notes: I've been holding this fic in my head for the last month, and finallyfinallyfinally after clearing out the other ships that have distracted me, I am sitting down to write this one. I'm a bit rusty on the Jerza, so forgive me. And I'm also rusty on the writing anything longer than 1,000 words, with apologies.
For ambivia, with love and velociraptors.
(will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?)
In the middle of a great war against Prince Zeref of the Alvarez Kingdom, Prince Jellal Fernandes doesn't lose sight of the battles in front of him until an attendant taps on the shoulder and tells him:
"Your Highness, Princess Scarlet needs your help."
"What?" He swivels around. His hand is at his sword. "What happened?"
"The curse, Your Highness. The curse from the evil fairy. She's pricked her finger on a rose thorn."
The prince's eyebrows are furrowed and his face is aghast. "When? Just now?"
The answer doesn't come immediately. When it does, it's guilt-ridden. "Seven years ago."
"She's been sleeping for seven years?" he demands. "Why wasn't I informed of this sooner?"
His attendant's eyes fall back to the royal crest that the prince wears on his broad chest, and the prince is quickly reminded that this is probably above his control—and he hates that it is.
"I'll be leaving at once. Please inform the generals," he tells the attendant, mollifying himself.
His attendant leaves immediately to do his bidding, and the prince looks out to the distance in the direction of a faraway empire.
He will never forget her, nor the color of her scarlet hair. He will never forget how fourteen years ago, they played in each other's laps and tumbled through the soft lush green grass of Castle Magnolia, littering the fresh crisp air with their childishly enamored giggles.
He fingers a ring in his right pocket. The ring is fashioned of a small braid of young branches. It is from their childhood, one he made after the kings' disagreement on a plot of land between Castle Magnolia and Castle Sorciere, one he made after he was told that he wouldn't be able to see Princess Scarlet again, and that she was cursed anyway.
It was the ring he pressed into the palm of her hand while he asked her to wait for him to come back. She returned it to him in the same motion, promising that she would wait, before she teased that he wasn't careful, he might find her having come to him first.
He had planned to ask for her hand after he defeated Prince Zeref and with this victory, gotten his father's approval to name the cursed girl his queen, but with news of her slumber, the plan has changed.
Now, Princess Scarlet needs him. She—graced with beauty, wit, grace, dance, song, music, and all the virtues of a strong woman, more—has been needing him, and so he goes, guilty with his seven years of ignorance and ready to make up for his mistakes.
He knows what he needs to do, and he doesn't waste any more time.
He sails the next tide, and he travels out into the horizon of the sea without a care to look back. The risk is worth it; he doesn't give up chances when it comes to her—he takes all of them. But the journey is long and the ocean is dry, and it takes him five days longer than he expects.
When he is thirsty, he remembers her sharp tongue and her quick remarks. When he is hungry, he recalls her colorful imagination and her good will.
Memories of her quench and satiate his soul. Even as his ship rocks up and down on the rough waters, and even as he holds the acid in his stomach, he looks to the sunset and imagines the red streaks across the sky are the very strands of her scarlet tresses.
He thinks of all the braids he will weave into her hair, how she will wear them until she is forced to comb them out, how her hair will curl from the laces he's tucked together so lovingly.
He lands finally on the golden sand beach of her land and sees that seven years has allowed the surrounding forest to encase Magnolia in a tangle of dark green and sierra brown.
He cuts through the overgrown trees, and despite the fact that the thick branches splinter him and despite the fact that the wildlife discourages him—the occasional peck from a bird, the sometime bite from a snake—he continues on.
After all, he has nothing to complain about when he knows she leads a tougher life. He reminisces about how she wanted to be warrior and how the royalty of Magnolia kept her away from anything sharp because of the curse. He remembers her boldness, her steady hands and feet when they snuck out at night and tried their best to stay as quiet as they could while they explored the weapons and armor chambers of the castle.
"I don't want to be protected," she told him back then. "I want to protect."
"But all of Magnolia will sleep forever if you get hurt," he reminded her. "You'll go to sleep forever."
"Well then I won't get hurt," she replied.
He grimaces—wiping the sweat from his brow—as he recalls this moment, reminding himself that this was the night that he vowed that he would be her shield. She was stubborn and she wouldn't like it one bit if she found out, but he pledged he would silently slay whatever demons and monsters before they got to her.
He reminds himself that these seven years are proof that he broke this promise—that she did get hurt and that her kingdom did fall to sleep—and fueled by this guilt, he finishes off the last few feet of forest that block the entrance of the great Castle Magnolia.
Now in front of him a stone gate, and for an entire sleepless day and night, he chips away. While he wills away his sore wrists and shaking hands, he remembers her enchanting voice, her musical song, and most of all, the way his name sounds on her lips.
He hopes he can hear her call for him again, whether in a gentle sigh, a warm chuckle, or an admonishing cluck. He hopes she still loves him when she wakes and sees his older chiseled face, his tougher callused hands, and his heavy jaded eyes. It's been fourteen years, and he's seen his bath water grow gray with dirt, he's forgotten how to sit on anything but a horse, and the only reason why his sword is clean is because he makes sure to wipe it with a red-stained rag.
But she's better at keeping promises than him. He knows she will be waiting.
He breaks through to the inner courtyard and sees the other people that have fallen to the ground in an eternal slumber. He can't believe that the king kept him from knowing the tragedy that befell Magnolia and kept him distracted in a war with Prince Zeref, but he is even more disappointed in himself that he hadn't noticed all these years.
These are an unforgivably long seven years, so the prince rushes inside the castle, careful to not step over anyone—not the servants, the bards, the cooks, the cleaners, the attendants, or the jesters—while he dashes through Castle Magnolia, searching for a familiar shade of scarlet. His lungs burn and his muscles ache and he counts every step like every day he spent without her, but he knows that with each step he takes he comes closer and closer to finding her.
He sees the red rose first—still a fresh blossom—before he sees the princess, her dainty fingers wrapped around the stem of the flower, her first finger pricked by a single thorn that was left uncut.
He thinks for a moment who would be so maleficent to harm her, but everything is forgotten when he rests his eyes on her for the first time after fourteen years—how tall she has grown, how strong she has become, how beautiful she is and always was.
The prince falls to his knees and gathers her into his arms, holds her face with a sturdy hand, looks at her calm rest. She is trapped in time, and he apologizes to her for not realizing that she fell seven years ago. He apologizes that he kept her waiting for fourteen years too long.
His head bows to her as he croons sorrys, thank yous, and i've missed yous in her ear. He pulls her scarlet hair behind her ears. He takes a breath, remembers this moment—he will tell this story to their children—and he presses the softest of kisses on her lips.
The spell is broken.
She opens her hazel eyes—young and beautiful—and he feels his heart flutter in the same way it did fourteen years ago.
"Erza, love, it's me, Jellal."
She smiles—honey sweet as he remembers—
"I'm sorry. Who?"
(I know you will)
end notes: Sigh. I'm sorry I didn't warn you. If you knew me better, you would know to expect that ending.
Anyway, let me know what you think; I very much want to hear! I have plans for one-shots regarding alternate fairy tales of Nalu, Gajevy, and Gruvia with angst-cornered pages. If you think this is a terrible idea, please tell me and I'll stop my nonsense.
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