Summary: As the Great Holy Knight of Danafor, it is up to Meliodas to investigate why his kingdom was attacked. But when his mission turns personal, he must keep the darkness lurking beneath the surface from consuming him.
A/N: EJR Horselady has ruined me. Her head canons on Liz and Meliodas have taken over my brain, and I spent about two days thinking about them nonstop, culminating in a oneshot writing session in the middle of the night. This is my first fic regarding Liz and Danafor, so please enjoy.
Pase is a kingdom in the center of the island of Britannia. At the base of the Paraine Mountains, and linked to both the East Sea and West Sea by the River Wandas, it is a prosperous kingdom. It serves as the center of trade to the rest of Britannia; no one could travel from the northern kingdoms to the southern without going through Pase. This traffic had made its citizens and its king very, very rich.
It is to this kingdom that Meliodas heads, little more than a shadow riding under cover of the forests. He can hear and see everything for miles, his skill allowing him to evade capture or even the notice of others. The horse is not as fast as he could have gone on his own, but after a brief debate had figured it would be better to be discovered as a lost traveler on the road, rather than a lost wanderer. Travelers have a purpose; wanderers welcome trouble.
With the horse it takes two days to reach the capital city, having sold and bought a fresh horse twice on the way so he did not have to stop. He is tired a bit, yes, but he has felt greater fatigue before. Now with the walls of the great trading city Dolan in sight, the very capital of Pase, adrenaline begins to pulse like an old friend through his veins.
Tonight he will become the person he once was, just for a little while. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all. Tonight he will complete his task quickly, efficiently, and then return to his life. His new life, as old as it is.
The gates of Dolan never shut, as traders and travelers move twenty-four hours a day through the city. On one side is a port for ships that travel the great river. The other side is the checkpoint for entry on foot; although all are welcome in Dolan, a careful record of comings and goings are kept. The soldiers of Pase are ever present, and the powerful kingdom has its own legion of Holy Knights to protect the king and his assets.
Meliodas allows the horse to water and rest before he reveals himself. Well off the road, he perches in a tree and watches as people and carts and animals go in and out, observing how the guards maneuver on the wall, calculating the intervals between shifts. He watches for hours, still and waiting, so still that not even the birds are disturbed by his presence.
Once night falls and the torches are lit he finally moves. Based on the position of the moon he can tell that it is the time of night where the children are in bed but the taverns should still be full. He had shed his Danafor uniform before leaving, and now pulls his cloak around him as he walks down the road, looking every bit the young man he is pretending to be.
At the gates, there are a handful of soldiers, and even fewer people checking in or out of the city. He stands in line with the others, pulling the cloth even tighter against the chilly autumn breezes. When it is his turn, he steps up to a bored-looking soldier standing behind a huge ledger.
"Name?" he says gruffly.
"Meliodas," is the answer. He had figured there was no point in lying and trying to remember another name.
"Any weapons?" the soldier yawns.
"Just this," he replies, pulling out a knife on his belt. The soldier takes it and examines it for a moment before unexpectedly reaching out and pulling his hood down.
He snorts to see the mess of blonde hair. "You're no more than a kid. What's your business here?"
"Slave trade. Can I have my knife back?"
They stare at each other for a long moment. "What's a kid like you want with the slave trade?"
"Gonna buy one. Can I have my knife back?"
He holds out his hand, his eyebrows arching up a bit expectantly. Finally the soldier huffs and hands him the weapon back. "Get on then."
Meliodas sheathes the knife and heads through the gates, pulling his hood back up. The likelihood of getting recognized as the Great Holy Knight of Danafor is slim, but he takes no chances. The city is like the dozens of others he has visited in Britannia, with shops and homes pressed together in narrow streets, on the outliers some of the grander homes of the richer merchants, all roads leading to the castle in the center of the city. There are lamps on the corners of the street, which he is impressed to see; of course, it makes sense for such a rich kingdom to afford such luxury.
What does not make sense to him is why Pase would want to attack Danafor. They have no quarrels, no issues as far as he knows. Sure, the king of Danafor is a pompous nitwit, and probably Pase's as well, but that isn't enough to commit a crime against another sovereign. Liz had told him she was following orders, but whose orders she couldn't say. So their army had attacked his own, resulting in losses and destruction on both sides. It was only under Meliodas' superior military strategium that the smaller, weaker Danafor had managed to push the Pasilian army back.
Of course, Meliodas had been doing this a very, very long time.
Now he walks through the streets, which are not silent. There is music and voices coming from the many taverns that dot the streets, and people walk in pairs or groups from one to the other. Some are quiet and keep to themselves, like him, others are loud and raucous with too much drink. There are women in the streets as well, their days just beginning with the nightfall, and he gets several offers that are tempting but must be turned down to stay focused on his mission.
Why would they attack? The question hangs heavily on his shoulders as he walks and listens and observes. He had been here several times over the past century, the city and kingdom difficult to miss as one passes through Britannia. Most recently, he had visited the previous year as an escort to his own Crown Prince, just before he was named Grand Master. Pase was a newer kingdom, built on a pocket of formerly "free" lands, that now were under the thumb of someone whose great great grandfather had enough of an army to take the river. The buildings of the capital look fine, the people fed. Dolan shows no signs of suffering. Eliminating need from the list of possibilities, Meliodas arrives on the next: greed.
It is with this in mind that he comes to his destination, a simple cart standing alone on the skirts of where the open air market operates during the daylight hours. He approaches two very burly looking men who stand behind a rather snide one, and he can barely contain his annoyance at how very predictable this all is. "I'm here for the night market," he says simply.
The man snorts, the second to do so at him that night. "We don't allow children into the market."
He does not wish to argue, so simply drops a small sack of gold coins on the table. Without a word the snide one hands him a ticket, and the guards step aside as he enters the home behind them.
It's not a home at all, just a facade, and after the single room is another door with a staircase. He makes his way down the well-lit steps until he reaches a huge underground cave. There are hundreds of people there, the smell and the heat and the noise enough to do anyone with a weak stomach in. Meliodas has seen far worse, but still loosens the tie of his cloak all the same.
A greeter steps up and asks for his ticket. As Meliodas holds it up he asks, "How long until the auction starts?"
At the sound of such a young voice, the greeter peers closer at him. "Are ye sure ye should be here, lad?" he asks, his voice like a rusted hinge. "This ain't for children."
"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," Meliodas answers evenly, shoving the ticket back into his pocket.
The man pauses before continuing, "Auction'll start any minute, with the young'uns. Anything in partic'lar ye lookin' fer?"
Meliodas looks him in the eye. "A woman."
"A woman!" The greeter is nearly cackling at the joke. "Dinna be in such a rush there, boy. I'm sure once yer balls drop, ye'll be gettin' all the womens ye ever wanted."
He laughs again at himself, but Meliodas' face remains passive. "I need a bodyguard, actually. I heard that a seller named Mardovan is the best. Which one is he?"
"Mardovan, eh? He's one o' the better qual'ty ones, I hope ye have yer pocket money ready." The greeter turns and scans the front of the room, then nods to the right. "He'sat one 'ere, wit the great purple hat, the big ass. His stock'll be up later."
"Thank you," says Meliodas, moving away before the greeter can make any more observations.
He weaves in the crowd, his senses tuned as he listens. When the auction begins, he watches raptly, his face never changing as one young teenager after another is brought forth. Some are for working, some are for fighting, some are for serving, their strengths touted expertly by the auctioneer. To their credit, the slaves that are barely more than children are brave as they stand on the block. Meliodas had seen his fair share of slaves, especially in what he refers to as his former life; he had owned his fair share, as well. Slaves had been a tradable good since the time when trading began. It is the way of the world, and he is resigned to the fact that he can do little at the moment; so, he watches.
That is, until a young girl of about seven is pulled up on stage. There is a small cheer from the men in the crowd, and although Meliodas' expression does not change, his stance and his body do not waver, he feels an electricity under his clothes that he holds back in a tenuous grip. The girl is crying a bit, her head down in shame, and the bidding goes quite high for the little one. But she is a beauty, and that cannot be helped either.
As he watches he thinks of another girl, about the same age, maybe 16 or 17 years ago. A girl with astonishing pink hair and strong limbs, a girl that was not supposed to be at auction. A girl he had not been able to find, despite his best searching, leading him to take his post in Danafor in the hopes that being privy to intelligence would help somehow. A girl he was supposed to find two decades or more ago, but for reasons beyond his control, he had lost track of for too long.
He thinks of that girl and when the one on stage is sold, he nearly loses his dinner. She is led away to her fate, and for a moment he considers it: unleashing his powers, doing away with the slave traders, saving the girl to make up for the one who mattered most.
But that would accomplish nothing but war, and Meliodas is so very tired of war.
The children are now done, and the pleasure slaves are up next. Meliodas watches Mardovan the entire time, his eyes on the smile that crosses his face each time one of his girls or boys are sold. When it is over, he heads off to collect his purse, and as the auction moves on to the working slaves, Meliodas moves as well.
It is easy to follow the ridiculous purple hat, and sure enough when Mardovan collects his money he heads out of the auction. He follows at a decent distance until they arrive at his home, large and tasteless as its owner. A servant hurries to open the door for him, the trader slipping inside the lit house unawares he is being watched.
Meliodas counts the minutes until a half hour has gone by. At this point he figures the merchant is relaxed, tired, probably sent his servants to bed. The lock on the door is easy enough, and sure enough the home is silent and still. But there are sounds coming from a room in the back, and once more Meliodas is in the shadows as he approaches unseen.
He finds the trader sitting in a stuffed chair, counting his coins like some sort of villain in a story. Two beautiful young girls stand nearby, ready for orders, and they spot Meliodas before their owner does. He nods respectfully to both as he enters, but must clear his throat to catch the attention of the man so eagerly lost in his own purse.
"Who are you!" Mardovan shouts, pointing a shaking finger. "Get out of here!"
"I'm here to discuss business," Meliodas says pleasantly.
"I have no business with you!" the trader proclaims, slamming a fist on the table. A stack of coins spills, clattering onto the floor. "Now get out! If you are thinking of robbing me, I have two Holy Knights in my service, and—"
"I'm not here to rob you," Meliodas laughs. "I'm here to settle a debt."
That catches the man's attention, who immediately ceases his ranting. "You owe a debt? Huh, I don't remember you." He snaps his fingers and one of the girls rushes forward with a leather-bound ledger, which Mardovan snatches away. He begins to rifle through it and barks out, "What's your name, boy?"
"Meliodas," he answers.
"Meliodas? I don't have a Meliodas." He looks up with narrow eyes. "What are you playing at?"
Folding his arms, Meliodas responds, "I didn't say I owed the debt. I'm here to collect from you."
At that Mardovan laughs long and hard. "I don't owe any debts!" he booms. "I am the richest slave trader in Dolan. What debt would I owe?"
"It's not to me, specifically," explains Meliodas. "It's to a girl you once owned. You sold her to the army for training to be a Holy Knight. But before that, she served you."
The man snorts, the third one that night, and Meliodas can feel angry heat flare on his neck. "You expect me to remember some girl?" he laughs. "Look, I've fucked a lot of girls in my day, you can't think that I recall every whore—"
No one hears the rest of his defense, because in the next moment the man is on his back, his chair in splinters. Meliodas stands over him, one foot stepping on an arm as he holds the other arm tightly at an unpleasant angle. "You didn't let me finish," Meliodas chastises. "That was very rude of you."
Mardovan gives a garbled scream as Meliodas gives his arm a bit of a twist, bones cracking. "Don't kill me! Don't kill me!" he cries. "Help! Help! Go get me help!"
The girls, panicking, dart towards the door; but one raised hand forces it to swing shut, and they look over at the blond in terror. "No need to go, ladies," he says calmly. "In fact, you should stay and witness this."
Another twist, and Mardovan is nearly foaming at the mouth. "You'll take off my arm!" he screams in agony.
"Shush and let me finish." Meliodas grinds his foot into his forearm, and the man gives a whine, but nothing more. "You should remember her because she had pink hair. Beautiful pink hair and blue eyes."
"A lot— I've had a few— pink hair—"
Meliodas frowns, letting go his grip just a bit. Mardovan is red faced and panting now, and it wouldn't do to give him a heart attack just yet. "You'll remember the blue eyes," he continues, "because you sliced one with a knife when she dared to look at you."
The panting and the whining stops, and now the dealer simply lays trembling in his grip. "Do you remember her now?" he asks, his voice now with an unmistakable edge.
Silently, Mardovan nods. Meliodas smiles and lets his arms go, watching as the dealer gasps in relief. He crouches down, one foot planted on either side of him, and sits on Mardovan's chest. "I'm here to claim your debt to her," he says quietly, menacingly.
Mardovan's eyes go wide as Meliodas slides the knife from its place on his hip. "What are you going to do?!" he squeals. "Don't take my eye! Don't take my eye!"
"Oh shush," says Meliodas, smacking him lightly on the bridge of his nose. "I'm not gonna do that."
"You're not?" he chokes.
Meliodas shakes his head. He spies the ridiculous purple hat on the floor among the splinters and grins with an idea. "Nope. But hold still anyway."
When he is finished, he lets go of the man's face and wipes the blade of his knife on his shirt. The letters A-S-S are now carved across his forehead, and Mardovan is a whimpering mess. Meliodas pauses to admire his handiwork for a moment before replacing his knife in its holster. The wound is deep, sure to leave very nasty scars, but not life-threatening by any means. "Now," he says, "I want you to listen, and listen carefully."
He raises his brows expectantly, and Mardovan stutters out an agreement. "Good! Now, you're done as a slave trader. All these girls here are free. And since I'm a fair man, I'm even gonna pay for them. Understand?"
"I— I— I—"
"Good, good. Now, just so you know, if I find out you have a slave again—or you know what?" Pausing for a moment, Meliodas taps a finger to his chin. "How about, if I find out you're ever with another woman again, I'm gonna come back here and cut your dick off." He pats his knife for good measure and smiles. "Are we agreed?"
"I— I— You—"
"Excellent!" Instantly Meliodas is up. He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small sack of coins, laying it on the table. Looking over his shoulder at the man still bleeding and shaking on the ground, he says, "You'll find I'm even giving you a fair price for the girls. Now don't forget what I said."
He heads for the door, but stops when he passes the two former slaves, clutching each other with tear-streaked faces. "Didn't you hear? You are free. Best tell the others and get out of here. I'm not a fan of slave traders." Meliodas jerks his thumb to indicate the stuttering Mardovan, and the girls squeal in terror and hurry out of the room.
"Who… who are you?" Mardovan gasps as he nears the door.
"No one special," he answers, glancing back.
Mardovan is halfway sitting up, his hand pressed to his bleeding forehead. "What was she then? Your sister?"
Meliodas shakes his head. "She is my everything."
He reaches for the door handle when an ugly growl comes behind him. "You won't get away with this," the trader snarls. Once more Meliodas turns to look at him, no longer amused. Blood covers the man's face, his broken arm held awkwardly against his chest, and he leans across the desk with spittle flying from his mouth. "I'm gonna find you," he continues, "and I'm gonna cut you into pieces for this. My Holy Knights will tear you apart. And then I'll take your pink-haired whore, cut out the other eye, and I'll fuck every hole—"
Meliodas sighs. "I warned you not to be rude," he says quietly, walking back towards the desk.
"Stay back!" Mardovan hisses, one arm extended, as Meliodas rounds the desk. "Don't come any closer!"
"That tongue of yours is going to get you in real trouble one day," he answers, drawing the knife from his sheath.
The garbled cries from the trader bring his guard, but the pulsing danger that comes from the office keeps any from entering. The Holy Knights are called, but by the time they are roused from their evening activities and arrive to assist Mardovan he is nothing more than a gurgling mess. The dark energy, however, is unmistakable as it bleeds through the air, and even the knights are terrified and shaken as to what it all means. The lingering feeling of whatever creature did such an act are all the clues they have with the trader now mute.
Between what is observed and the frightened stories from the freed girls, rumors spread through Pase regarding the demon seeking vengeance. "I'm not a fan of slave traders" is repeated over and over as the story is told and retold. The other traders are nervous, their fear souring the business, and within weeks the slave trade nearly ceases to exist from the threat. Only a few small markets remain in Britannia, hushed and secret, no one willing to risk the ire of the dark creature.
With no need to hide this time, Meliodas heads back to Danafor on his own, the run doing him good. He had wanted to kill that trader so fucking badly. It was everything in him to leave him in one piece, especially after seeing the little girl on stage. The other half of him had pulsed and begged to be released, the sight and smell of the blood feeding the darkness. He could have let it out and ended the trade himself before anyone knew what had happened. He could still, right now, go back and finish it.
But all that would have done is brought on war, and Meliodas is so very tired of war.
Dawn is just breaking the following day when he reaches Danafor, the streets mostly quiet and still as he hurries home. Opening his front door, he is nearly assaulted by the short-haired beauty that has been living with him for three weeks. "Where the hell have you been?" she shouts, pulling him inside by the shirt and slamming the door. "No one has seen you for days!"
Meliodas looks at her strangely. Her hair is a mess, her clothes a bit rumpled, bags under her eyes. Has she been worrying? "I was out on a mission," he says simply. "I am the Grand Master, you know."
"Yes I know that you ass, but no one knew where you went!" Liz huffs in frustration and folds her arms, pushing her breasts up delightfully. "How could you just leave without a word?"
"Awww, were you worried about me?" he teases, his hands reaching to squeeze the offered flesh. But Liz is onto his game, and grabs his wrists before he can touch her. "What did I tell you about—"
She pauses her yelling to look closely at his hands. "Is this blood?"
Her blue eye peers closely at him, and he smiles and tugs his hands away. "Don't worry. It's not my blood."
Liz gapes at him and he ducks around her, giving her bottom a smack as he slips by. She shouts in frustration and he quickly sheds his cloak onto a chair, heading to the sink to pump water into a basin and wash up. "Hey, do you want some tea? I'm dying for a hot cup."
"Tea? You want tea, and you won't... tell me…"
Meliodas finishes washing and looks over his shoulder to see Liz standing frozen. She has picked up his cloak in one hand from where it was tossed, and the ticket from the slave auction is now in the other.
Their eyes meet and he swallows. "It's not what you think—"
"Is this—from Pase?" Her voice shakes and her trembling hand drops the cloak on the floor. "Did you go to Dolan? Was this—was this your mission?"
The silence is thick and tense between them, until Meliodas slowly walks towards her. Gently he takes the ticket from her hand. "Yes, I was there. I needed to take care of something."
"Take care of something?" she whispers, staring at him in pure shock.
Meliodas nods. "Yes." He walks to the fireplace and rips the ticket in half, then half again, and throws it into the flames. "There." Looking back at her, he gives a small smile. "I'll spare you the details, but there is a slave trader there that won't be in business any longer."
The look on Liz's face is difficult to discern, and for a moment Meliodas is worried that one person could feel too much at once. But then to his own shock, she walks towards him. When they are nearly touching, she reaches out and cups his face, tilting it up as she leans down and presses her lips on his.
The kiss is just a moment, and absolutely heavenly moment, before she pulls back. "Thank you," she says simply, her eye still wide with shock.
Meliodas cannot help his own grin as he gazes up at her. "Come on, you owe me breakfast." Liz huffs out a laugh, nodding, but that moment is gone a second later when she takes a swing at him for giving her another swat.
That night, for the first time, she allows him to sleep in the bed with her instead of forcing him to stay on the floor. She builds a wall of pillows and blankets between them, however, but Meliodas is content to let her do what she needs. Besides, after the traveling and his hike back to Danafor, followed by a full day catching up from his absence, he is exhausted and glad for the comfortable bed any way he can take it. The minutes tick by, and he is almost sure she is asleep, when a tired voice whispers, "Meliodas?"
"Hm?" he murmurs back.
"Did you really go to Dolan?"
"Yeah."
She shifts on the bed. "Did you kill him?"
Meliodas swallows. "No."
"Did you hurt him?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
Liz doesn't speak again, and Meliodas listens to her drift off to sleep. For the first time in the three weeks since she arrived a prisoner of war in Danafor, he sleeps soundly.