I originally intended to post this as a part of the armada, but it ended up a family oriented story and too long for that, so here it is as a standalone fic. I wrote it somewhat on a whim earlier today, and all of a sudden I had a complete thing. Instead of waiting to post it for next month, I decided to post it today. As such, it's also largely unedited, so if you see any major errors, feel free to point them out.
I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail.
Creeping through the forest on his hands and knees, Sting stared out at the tiny house nestled among the trees. Smoke wafted out of a metal chimney, speaking to its occupation. The question on his mind, however, was on whether or not the owner was home. If they were, he would have to wait until they were gone before he scoped it out any closer.
But it had been forever already – with half the day gone and no sign of the house's occupant. Maybe they were out for the day? Unlikely, given that the chimney smoke had yet to diminish in the slightest. Then again, maybe it had just been stoked for the day so it wouldn't go out while they were gone?
A loud grumble from his midsection decided the issue for the young boy. He needed food, so he was just going to have to risk it. Weisslogia had taught him many things, but surviving on his own without the dragon's guidance was proving to be the most difficult challenge he'd ever faced. Sting hated being on his own. It was incredibly lonely, and he wasn't suited to it.
Just as he was about to start advancing once again, he was startled by a loud rustling behind him. He let out a yelp of surprise as his collar was roughly grabbed and he was hauled to his feet. Looking up, he found himself staring into red eyes on a wrinkled face. The old woman's expression was stern, her lips turned down and her brow furrowed. A few pink strands of hair fell across her forehead, having escaped from her tight bun. Her scent wafted over Sting, strong this close and threatening to overpower his senses. Chemical residue clinging to her clothes and hands stung his nose and eyes.
Aside from the chemicals and herbs, he almost swore that she smelled like a dragon – of seared oxygen and the sky.
"What are you doing here, brat?" she asked, her voice like gravel. "Why are you skulking around my home?"
The deepness and harsh tone of her voice did the opposite of frighten Sting. Combined with her scent, it brought waves of memories with Weisslogia to the forefront of his mind, subsuming him with nostalgia and grief. Tears welled up in his eyes, and before he knew it, they had overflowed and were dripping down his cheeks.
When the boy didn't respond, and instead began to sob uncontrollably in her grip, Porlyusica was taken aback. She knew she had a reputation for being scary, sure, but she wasn't that frightening, was she? After all, she'd never met this particular child before – so he should have had no real reason to fear her.
Seeing so many tears coming out of a child that could have been Makarov's doppelganger many years ago was unnerving to say the least.
Porlyusica sighed at the dirt encrusted on his skin, and how thin he looked. "Come on inside, boy," she commanded, half-dragging the urchin over to her cabin and not really giving him the option to refuse. Once they were inside, she shut the door firmly and shoved a clean towel into his arms. "My shower is over there." She pointed it out to him; it was tucked into one wall with naught but a shower curtain separating it from the rest of her home. "Get cleaned up, and by the time you're done there will be food waiting for you."
He vanished when she blinked, his dirty outfit already deposited on the floor and the towel hooked over the curtain. It took him a couple of minutes to figure out her dials, but soon the sound of rushing water filled the cabin and steam wafted over the curtain's top.
Not having any children's clothing on hand, Porlyusica set out an old shirt for him to wear. It would be plenty big enough with how small he was.
Her oven timer chimed, and she went over to it and pulled out a small chicken pie she'd made for herself. But with how thin the child was, he was welcome to the whole thing. Then she took his clothes and dumped them along with her own to wash later.
The amount of dirt encrusted on them worried her. In conjunction with his small size, and thinness, it painted a very concerning picture for the old healer. He was very young and on his own, it was clear to her. Porlyusica contemplated calling Makarov to come and pick up his small lookalike, but then discarded the thought a moment later. She had to earn the kid's trust first, even if it meant having a houseguest for a few days.
That prospect almost set her teeth to grinding. She despised human company. And children had a habit of being underfoot all the time. It was why she'd set up shop so far out into the forest in the first place – to remove herself from the majority of humankind.
The shower turned off, the towel yanked down a heartbeat after.
"There's a clean shirt for you to wear while I wash your clothes," Porlyusica stated.
Hesitantly, a small hand reached out from behind the curtain and tugged the cloth within. He emerged shortly thereafter, completely swamped in the shirt. Porlyusica resisted a snort at the ridiculous sight. Instead, she indicated the pie she'd placed on her table.
Not needing further prompting, he scrambled up onto her sole chair.
At least he knew what to do with utensils, she contemplated as he almost tore into the pie.
She sat down on her bed, restraining a yawn. Old bones were not meant for such excitement, she thought. "What's your name, child?" she asked.
The boy swallowed. "Sting," he said slowly, wary of her. "Sting Eucliffe."
That was an unusual name for a child, Porlyusica thought. But no stranger than her own, really. Some people's parents just had no taste. "Sting. What brings you out here by yourself?"
Sting glanced down at the remains of the pie, not making eye contact with her.
"There's fresh berries for you if you answer my questions."
His eyes widened and he looked up again at the bribe she was offering. "Okay."
"So what were you doing out here?" Porlyusica prompted once again.
Sting still hesitated briefly before answering. "My dad died. So I've just been… kinda wandering around. You're the first person I've seen in a long time." Most people didn't care to have dirty, homeless children skulking around, so he'd been keeping mostly to the woods for a while.
Porlyusica nodded, deep in thought. "I know of a place you could go, if you're interested."
He shook his head vehemently, shrinking in on himself.
"You can't stay here forever," Porlyusica stated bluntly.
"Why not?" Sting asked, crushed by her words. He'd come to like this strange old woman who smelled like a dragon.
She bit back her automatic response about how much she despised people. "I'm not set up for more than one person," she explained instead. "But my friend has a lot of children running around. You could find a home there, if you wanted it."
Sting bit his cheek. "Can I think about it?"
"Sure," Porlyusica said. "In the meantime, how old are you?"
He thought about it for a long while. "Seven?" Sting wasn't entirely certain. It had been a while since Weisslogia had demanded that he kill him.
With a click of her tongue, Porlyusica shook her head. "That's too young to be left on your own. You can stay here for a few days if you want to, Sting." Her gaze softened incrementally as his eyes shone and sparkled at the offer.
She idly wondered if she needed to worm him, what with the way he'd decimated the pie and how long he'd been in the woods.
Porlyusica resolved to consult her texts on the issue, and Sting obliviously finished his meal.
Porlyusica had him underfoot for almost a week, much to her consternation. He was bright bundle of energy, a far cry from Makarov's youthful dourness. In bits and pieces, she was able to draw out Sting's story, and the horrible thing his father had forced upon his young psyche. No one should have to make a choice like Sting had had to, and especially not a child. It was barbaric, and it reminded her about why she despised people so much. It was hard to hate Sting, however.
Curiously, the boy refused to learn her proper name no matter how hard she tried to drill it into his thick skull. Instead, for reasons incomprehensible to her, he insisted on calling her Dragon Lady. Which usually earned him a gentle swat with her broom, and did nothing to deter the practice.
After that week, when she brought back Makarov to the cabin to meet the boy, she found it empty, Sting having cleared out.
She was almost heartbroken.
"Did I ever tell you guys," Sting abruptly asked his friends, their attention swiveling to him with confusion, "about the time I met an old Dragon Lady when I was lost in the woods? She smelled exactly like a dragon, but she looked totally human, and lived in this cabin in the middle of nowhere. Even her voice sounded like a dragon! It was the strangest thing I've ever come across."
Rogue snorted at him. "Sounds like a fairy tale. Did she fatten you up and try to eat you?"
His partner laughed. "Well, not exactly. She did give me food and let me stay for a few days. I ran away after that, though."
"Why?" questioned Yukino, her eyes full of wonder.
"I… honestly couldn't tell you," Sting said, with a shrug. "I guess maybe she reminded me too much of Weisslogia. I was really young, and this was pretty soon after his supposed death." Sorrow stole across his face at the thought of the white dragon, now truly dead and gone.
"What did she look like?" Minerva chimed in, interested in the story, and interested in distracting Sting from painful memories.
"Old?" Sting's expression turned contemplative. "Other than that, I really couldn't tell you. Oh, wait! I think… I think she pink hair."
"Pink hair? An old lady with pink hair?" Rogue laughed. "You really did meet a witch."
"No, wait!" Yukino interjected. "An old woman that lives in the woods? With pink hair?" At Sting's nod, she then asked, "Were there herbs or things like that around?"
"Yeah!" Sting replied, surprised. "Wow, I almost forgot about that. They were everywhere, hanging up in clumps, in her cauldron…"
"And this didn't set off any alarms?" Rogue questioned.
Sting ignored the dragon slayer. "But how did you know that, Yukino?"
"I think I know who you're talking about," the celestial mage said, beaming at her guild master.
"Really?!" Sting practically lunged across the table in his enthusiasm. "Tell me more!"
Sweat ran down Yukino's forehead. "Lucy told me once that Fairy Tail has an unofficial healer, aside from Wendy. She's an old woman who lives in the woods not too far from the Fairy Tail guild. Lucy said that she's very cranky, and doesn't like people at all. Likes to hit people with brooms. Also, she has pink hair."
Sting stared at her in awe. "That sounds exactly like the old woman I remember. Did Lucy mention her name?"
Yukino thought about it for a moment. "Sorry, Sting. I can't remember."
"No worries!" he told her cheerfully. "I guess I need to make a trip out to Fairy Tail now, though. I want to thank her for her help back then."
"This is something I've got to see," Rogue told him. "So I'm coming with you."
"Me, too!" added Lector. "I want to thank her for helping Sting, too!"
"Hits people with brooms?" Minerva said thoughtfully. "I think I need to meet this woman."
"I can let Lucy know we're coming!" Yukino offered with a smile. "That way we won't surprise everyone too much."
He beamed at his friends. "The more the merrier! I would love to introduce you!"
Porlyusica swept the front step of her home clear of leaves, huffing at the omnipresent and inevitable detritus. Dust clouds rose from the planks of wood, swirling in the miniature currents her furious sweeping made.
"Dragon Lady!"
She was startled near out of her skin by the happy shout behind her. Whirling, she stared as a blonde man strode towards her with the goofiest grin she'd ever seen plastered across his face. His spiked hair and stupid smile seemed keenly familiar to her.
He stopped just in front of her steps, a group of people and cats behind him. "It's been a long time, Dragon Lady!" he said, still smiling brightly at her. "Did you miss me?"
There was only one person that called her that.
Recognition flooded her mind, as she stared incredulously at the little boy she'd once housed for a brief time period. "Sting," she stated gruffly, and then returned to her sweeping. "Still can't wear proper clothing, I see."
"Aww, I missed you too!"
She fought back a small smile as he began to introduce her to his friends.
Seems he'd done alright after all.