A/N: So! I have had this image in my head for a long time to do a Witcher AU for Gajevy. It just seemed to work so well in my head! The Witcher world is so huge, however, that I did worry that a lot of readers wouldn't understand all the references and their reading experience would be impacted by that. SO, I made a REALLY oversimplified key that might help give an overview of where I'm setting this:

Story starts in a Province called Velen. Velen is primarily swampland, often called No Man's Land, it is filled with death and the leftovers of war. The land is embroiled in a war between the Nilfgaardians(The Black Ones) and the Redanians(Led by King Radovid). Under Radovid's rule and in his controlled territories, non-humans and mages are hunted and burned at the stake by witch hunters, and possession of magical paraphernalia is a crime. Novigrad and Oxenfurt are the names other large cities. Witchers are technically non-human though once were. They are created, given mutations that enhance all their senses and abilities, allow them to use "signs," give them long lives, and yellow, cat-like eyes. Their purpose and livelihoods are to hunt monsters and complete contracts for money, but do not take sides in politics. The Lodge, or Lodge of Sorceresses, was initially a secret organization of all female mages formed during the political climate that had turned against nonhumans and mages. It essentially collapsed when most of the sorceresses needed to go into hiding or were captured. All monsters named in this AU are all ones that exist in the game.

Good folk,

It is with great urgency that I write this contract, beseeching the help of any capable. A beast lurks in our woods, to which I believe we can attribute the disappearances of multiple citizens. I can no longer enter the wood to gather ingredients necessary for medicine. It threatens our lives and our livelihood. We are in grave need of a Witcher. To any this concerns, please seek the healer's hut in Midcopse.

A gloved hand pulled the paper off the noticeboard, yellow eyes scanning over the ink. Briefly, he pulled the paper close and sniffed. Lavender. Typical.

The tall, broad man stuffed the contract into the pouch at his side and glanced at the sky, gauging what time it was and what time he would arrive at Midcopse if he left now. It was early morning, barring any interruptions he could be there by mid afternoon at a healthy trot. If he was lucky, he could have a trophy, a reward, and a hot dinner before nightfall.

With that thought, he grabbed the saddle of his horse and hauled himself up into the seat. Gajeel shook his head, tossing black strands unrestrained by a long ponytail from his face. The sun glimmered off several metal studs cross his brow, down his nose, and on his chin, outlining hard, weathered features. A thin scar ran from his left cheekbone down to the bottom of his jawline, but a closer look would reveal smaller scars elsewhere on his face as well.

"Let's go." A swift kick in the sides of his horse spurred the ebony beast forward, trotting down the dirt road out of the quaint, quiet village. His last contract had been a nasty wraith that had taken some time to track down, and his sleepless bones hoped this one was a rogue bear, frightening whatever sweet, old, lavender healer that lived in Midcopse. Or at least something simple that could be solved with steel, rather than silver.

But there was still the instinctive, purpose-driven part of the Witcher that craved the feel of his silver blade, cutting into some cataclysmic beast or ghoul. He felt little as a Witcher, most human emotions were lost on him besides the base desires thanks to the mutations, but he felt his calling. He lived to hunt beasts, and occasionally men if things got boring. Most times they were one in the same.

The afternoon's warmth radiated from his dark, leather armor by the time he passed under the wooden arch into Midcopse. The road had been quiet, and thankfully he had not run into anyone that would mean to slow him down. The Nilfgaardians were only good for stalling a trip and throwing a wrench into otherwise simple tasks. They knew who he was, nearly every soldier on both sides of the war knew Black Steel Gajeel. No other man had ever wielded a steel blade of pure black, and fewer still knew how or where he found a smith to create the alloy. Yet they took great joy in making everything as difficult as they like for him.

The village looked about the same as the last time he had been there years and years ago, but they didn't have a local healer then. At least in that regard they had something better finally going for them in No Man's Land. There were little luxuries to be had in the swamps of Velen, a healer-a good one-could often be what turned the luck for a community.

He didn't need to ask where the old woman lived; he usually would never have to. Every healer and herbalist had nearly identical tastes in property and landscaping. The herbs and flowers growing wild on their property always were enough of an indicator, and with a shift of the breeze he picked up the scent of lavender, muddled with other floral scents. Rose, honeysuckle, gardenia... There it is.

No one bothered him or tried to speak to him, in fact he thought he saw wary relief on the faces of many. They knew why he was there, and they didn't have to get close enough to see his yellow, cat-like eyes. They only needed to see the two swords on his back to know what sort of man he was… or wasn't. Only one type of person carried two swords, one steel, one silver, in this day.

The scent led him to the other end of the village, finally coming to a small hut surrounded, predictably, with flowers. He pulled his steed to a halt and swung out of the saddle, his boots hitting the earth with a heavy thud. He took one more sniff before approaching the wooden door, noting that he would have to duck through the frame. Small old woman then, he thought, knocking twice.

There was some shuffling inside before the door opened, and everything he had been expecting went right out the window.

The woman was tiny, nearly a head and a half shorter than him, and she was most certainly not old. In her early twenties, most like, with a full head of wavy, brilliantly blue hair. Honey-brown eyes started at his chest, then slowly slid up to his face, sending a foreign chill through him the second their eyes met.

He waited for her to say something, but she was as silent as he for several moments. She squinted, taking in his gaze before flicking to the two hilts peeking over his shoulder. Those eyes suddenly went wide and her whole face lit up. "A Witcher!" she gasped, stepping back and to the side as she quickly beckoned him inside. "Come in, please!"

Gajeel ducked wordlessly through the entrance and took in the room around him. Dried herbs and fruits hung from the rafters, but every wall was stacked to the roof with books. Books everywhere, far more than he had seen in any simple healer's collection. This collection rivaled what he had seen in some homes in Oxenfurt.

As the door closed behind him, he turned to face her. "I'm here to see the healer, about the contract," he stated, arching a brow at her. Surely she had to be a daughter, or an apprentice.

"I am she. I wrote the contract," the girl declared, placing her hands on her hips. "My name is Levy. And you are?"

The Witcher blinked at her, looking her over from top to bottom, glanced around the room, then back to her. She was so young, and by all objective standards she was beautiful. She looked more like one of the Lodge's sorceresses than some herbalist. "You're the healer?"

Levy frowned, tilting her head. "That's what I said." There was an air of offense on her tone, like she couldn't imagine why he would be so surprised.

The contract just got a little more interesting, and at least a little easier on the eyes; that was a blessing when heading off into some new danger. "Name's Gajeel," he finally responded.

The woman blinked, looking him over again. "The Gajeel?" she gasped, "As in Black Steel?"

Gajeel grinned, "That's the one." The pride on his voice was evident. He relished the nickname he had earned years ago. "'Fraid I ain't heard of you so I can't extend the same surprise."

She shook her head quickly, tossing her hair hypnotically, "You wouldn't have. But that's not the point; I am fortunate to have gotten supposedly one of the best with my posting. Now, we don't have a lot of time. I've taken notes on the clues I've found each time I've gone out, and who the disappearances were."

She wastes no time, he thought, until he realized what else she had said. "Wait, you've gone back out into the woods? More than once?"

"Well someone had to start gathering information until a Witcher took my contract, and all the villagers are too afraid to go out anymore. Just because I can't go deep enough to find my best ingredients doesn't mean I can't go out at all." Levy stopped in front of the table and spread out several pieces of paper.

Gajeel hummed, before approaching her and stopping just behind to look at the scattered parchment. Several names and descriptions were written down, but there were some sketches as well. What looked like a tree trunk, with claw marks illustrated through it, and a drawing of a footprint. One that looked very familiar, but he suppressed the groan that started to rise in him until he knew for sure what it was. "Ya find anythin' other than prints and scratches?"

"I've found pieces of clothing but never any bodies, barely any blood. Whatever it is probably takes them elsewhere or is really really hungry. It started taking people about a month ago," the woman spoke a mile a minute, hardly even looking at him.

"Are all village healers this committed to justice?" Gajeel finally interjected. "Or is it just you?"

Levy shot him a glance that unnerved him, a narrowed glare that made him feel exposed, and that was not something he felt often. "These days, these lands, it's usually just me. The Black Ones can't be bothered, I'm sure they think it's population control as long as it doesn't affect them. And I can't very well make a plea to Radovid." Gajeel lifted a brow at that, slightly taken aback. The Witcher tilted his head, quietly urging her to continue. Levy, as though realizing how much she had said, paused a moment before she gave him a tired smile, glancing at her books. "I've had interest in grimoires in the past, they have a great deal of historic value. I collect them, it's a shame for them to be burned. But it would be enough to get me into some red hot trouble."

Now that was unusual. "That's a ballsy thing to collect," he remarked. "Don't seem like somethin' worth facing the witch hunters for."

"That's subjective," she shot back. "They don't bother coming this deep into the swamps, there are plenty of non-humans and paraphernalia in Novigrad for them to hunt and burn. Now, can we get back to this?" she tilted her head, effectively ending that topic.

Gajeel huffed at her and rolled his yellow eyes, "Fine fine." May as well play along, he didn't want to drag this out any more than she. "This is all great. Point me in the right direction and I'll take it from here."

Now the healer turned to face him fully, her face full of defiance that he could tell was going to make this far more difficult. "Oh no, I'll take you there myself."

"You'll whatnow?" he replied, crossing his arms. "Nuh-uh, I can't have the village gardener following me out there, it ain't safe."

"I can handle myself."

"Watched a lot of people die who said they could 'handle themselves.'"

"I'm not a lot of people," she stared him down again with those hard, brown eyes. "I will take you there, and I'll let you do your thing. I swear, I'll stay out of the way, but I need to see what it is."

"Why? Curiosity killed the cat, or however that goes," Gajeel replied dismissively.

"And satisfaction brought it back, is how the rest of it goes. Call me a seeker of knowledge." She stood strong, steadfast, staring right into his yellow eyes in a way that most found themselves unable to. Usually the not-so-human gaze was enough to keep eye contact to a minimum. Generally the world didn't know how to feel about Witchers, A necessity, an abomination, human or not. There were tales told to naughty children that a Witcher would come and steal them in the night and eat them up. But most of those same people pleaded with them when the Drowners patrolled their shores or a Hym crept into their guilt-ridden hearts. The same people that spat at them also wrote contracts when they were in trouble.

"Fine. But I'm not your escort, that ain't the contract, and I can't protect ya. And speaking of, we need to talk about my payment before we go farther."

Levy stared him down a moment longer, not wanting to back off, but she finally released a sigh. "Right, of course, Witchers don't hunt for free," she responded, whirling from him and heading to a chest in the back corner of the room. She opened it up and pulled out a small, jingling pouch. "I already set it aside. Two hundred crowns should be enough?"

The Witcher raised his brows, "More than enough. Didn't know a healer was that well-to-do, especially in Velen. Most patients can't afford to pay much."

"I get by," Levy responded simply, dropping the pouch back into the chest and locking it. "Let's go, we should get as much done as possible before dark. That's when it strikes."

"Lead the way then."

Gajeel ran his gloved fingers through the grooves slashed into the wood of the tree and smelled his hand. "Earthy, claws coated in soil," he mumbled to himself, looking up the trunk of the swaying tree. Several feet up, taller than he, the bark had been scraped off entirely. He'd seen these kinds of markings before, though usually, they were much lower; the height of a deer. "Scraped horns, or antlers up there, probably sharpening them," he continued, before glancing at the very intrigued woman behind him. "Where did you see the tracks?"

Levy started and looked around her quickly, before picking a direction. Several yards from the scratched tree, she found a large, deep imprint in the soil, "Here, this is the one I found."

The Witcher knelt next to the track and touched the dirt. "Days old. But, I might be able to follow it." He looked back to her, finally noting what she was wearing. She dressed like she had planned from the beginning to follow him out here. Attached to a leather strap slung around her waist was a pouch, weighted with whatever ingredients she planned to use. Instead of the typical matronly skirts she was wearing fitted trousers into which she had tucked a white blouse that was breathable, easy to move in, with a tie across her neck to ensure she was covered no matter how she moved. Her knee-high boots were worn, heavily used, giving him the notion she spent very little time inside. Where it was safe for small human women to be.

"Do you have an idea of what it is?" she finally asked, not carefully. She was confident.

"Judging by the height of the antler scrapes on that tree I have an idea of how big it is, and the scent left by the claws is deep, earthy, with a hint of rot. These prints are familiar, I've seen them before, and based on what you've already told me, we might be dealing with a Fiend," he scanned her face, waiting for the fear, but she just looked intrigued. Her brows rose as though she had thought it might be something different, but still not something that phased her.

"Are you sure?"

"You know about them," Gajeel stated, rather than asked. Most villagers didn't know the names of the less common monsters, let alone the ancient ones: Relicts. They knew about the Ghouls, Rotfiends, Drowners. The monsters that followed the pervasive death in their war-torn land were common knowledge. But the Relicts were the danger in the dark, creatures without names they knew of. Creatures of fear.

But she was here asking him if he was sure with nothing but determination on her face. "I know of them. I read."

Gajeel had the gut feeling that she was not telling him something, or just not being truthful. But he wasn't here to learn about her or dig up her secrets. He was here to complete the contract. "Has that satisfied your curiosity or do ya need to pet it?" Gajeel remarked.

"Are all Witchers this brutish or is it just you?" Levy spat, placing her hands on her hips.

"Mutations rob us of decency. Not my fault," Gajeel shrugged, but he grinned devilishly at her. He could see her prickle, ready to fire back at him, but instead he interrupted her again. "I need to stay here and prepare until the sun sets, when it comes out to hunt again. Ya need to head back to your village now. You'll only be a distraction, shorty."

Levy narrowed her eyes, stiffening completely. "What did you call me?"

"I called ya beautiful," Gajeel fired back at her with a smirk, watching her go stiff. "Go home," he turned from her then before she could regain her composure, and followed the trail.

Surprisingly, Levy let him walk away without more than an angry huff and muttered curses. And he actually heard her turn around and leave back from where they came. Maybe she decided to finally make it easier on him, but the less optimistic side of him knew that was likely not going to be the case.

Regardless, he had a job to do, and he set off to follow the old tracks deeper into the woods. He needed to first get closer to its center of activity, and then all he needed to do was wait for dark.

The sun had started to sink low on the horizon when the medallion around his neck started to hum. Gajeel took a deep breath and opened his eyes, quickly scanning the area around him from where he sat cross-legged beneath a tree. It had taken about as long as he expected to start sensing signs of the Fiend, and the hum of his medallion came soon after. The silver wolf's head shook, eyes glowing a brilliant crimson any time monsters were near: a useful tool to any Witcher.

Silently, Gajeel eased himself up onto his feet and reached back, wrapping his fingers around one of the two hilts over his shoulder. The silver hissed out of the sheath, glimmering in the orange light peeking through the trees. With his free hand, he pulled a small glass vial from the pouch at his side and yanked out the cork with his teeth. The Witcher poured the Relict oil liberally across his blade, twisting it in his grasp to ensure it covered as much as the weapon as possible, sinking into the runes along the silver. It would be poison to the creature, and he had been fortunate enough to already have some in his possession.

In front of him he saw green only, but the birds had gone quiet, and no crickets sung in their wake. He steadied his breathing as hum of his medallion grew more intense and a deep rumble grew in the forest beyond his vision. Then he heard its breathing, deep, gargled, and uneven. A breeze rustled the trees then, and he cursed silently as it pushed at his back, and all sounds in the wood beyond stopped. Gajeel had just started to tighten the grip on his sword when he heard something else, something at his rear.

Instinctively, the Witcher spun, blade at the ready, but it was not the Fiend he saw. Instead, it was a flash of blue. His yellow eyes went wide seeing her there, holding something in one hand while the other was raised defensively. Immediately the irritation boiled out of him. "What the hell do you think-"

A deafening roar from the direction he had originally faced drowned out his words, followed by the sound of splintering and exploding wood. Without another thought, he used his free arm to wrap around her waist and haul the tiny woman up and over this shoulder. Her shouts of protest filled his ears along with everything else, but he couldn't be bothered with her opinions at this point. He'd barely had time to look behind him to see the massive creature charging straight for them before he started to run, weaving to the left around trees that would hopefully slow the onslaught.

The Fiend flew by them, showering the two in wood splinters and leaves, taking several strides before it could skid to a halt.

Gajeel hastily dropped Levy back to the ground and rose to his full height, squaring his shoulders to glower down at her. "Go. Home!" he snarled, "You know what I am, you know I can make you. I won't ask again and I won't save you next time."

Levy glared right back, flushed from the interaction. But her resolve held firm as she took a sharp step towards him, looking ready to hit him over the head. "I don't need you to! I can bloody help you if you just let me-hey!" Gajeel had already turned from her and wholly ignored her words, racing back towards the Fiend while its back was still turned. Levy watched as he sprinted headlong into danger, at a speed greater than any man. This was a Witcher in true form, and frustrated or not she had to admire that for what it was.

The Fiend started to turn to him as he reached striking distance, and at full speed Gajeel dropped to his knees, both hands now gripping his blade. He swung the silver to his left, slashing the metal into the beast's rear legs. It screeched in agony, flashing countless fangs, as the toxic oil and silver dug into its flesh. It lurched forward, blindly swinging its massive rack of antlers.

On the last cut, Gajeel forced his weight into the strike, using the Fiend as an anchor to swing himself around and come to a stop. He leapt up to his feet, swinging his blade up high over his head to bring down upon its back.

But the Fiend was faster, spinning round to face Gajeel and swing the back of a paw into him, but not before his silver dug instead into its shoulder. The Witcher flew backwards, his back slamming into the trunk of a tree a great distance from the monster. A pained cough ripped from him as pain sung through his entire body, but his grip on his blade held steady.

Gajeel looked up to see it begin to charge at him again, and despite the pain he started to move. His left hand flew up in front of him and quickly drew the sign of Igni in the air, just as a blast of fire manifested and flew into the grotesque face of the beast. It screeched again, lurching to the side to try and keep the fire from its eyes, which diverted its charge just enough to miss Gajeel by mere feet.

He grunted as he pulled himself back up, staggering a few steps back to face it, ready. His sides heaved already, aggravating a pain in his back that he knew would be gone in a few days, but in this moment it was brutal. He'd left himself open to that swipe and it was a misstep he was paying for.

The Fiend finally whirled back around and took several stalking steps towards him, head low like it meant to charge again. The dense fur down it's back rose and bristled, adding even more to its size. Its mouth hung open in a pant, thick globs of drool dripping from the maw that wanted so badly to tear into his flesh. It dug a paw into the earth, tensing, just as the third eye in the middle of its forehead opened.

"Shit!" Gajeel cursed harshly, seconds before he went rigid and everything in his vision went black. All he saw was that single eye in front of him, burning through the darkness. Most humans unfortunate enough to find a Fiend would know this as the last thing they saw before their death, as they could not perceive where the beast would now be. But a Witcher could see it move, know when it drew closer, even if all their other senses were dimmed. It greatly impeded him, but he had some loose grasp on when to dodge, which would be enough for him to stay alive until it wore off. Theoretically.

In the dark, he could see it draw closer, and stalk off to the left, trying to shake his attention. Trying to fool him. He willed his body to step back, to keep his sword in front of him, and he could only hope he was actually doing what he thought. The movements of the eye became more erratic, and he knew it was moving to him, coming to finish him. It lunged, and he raised his blade.

The dark shattered with an explosion, followed by the agonized scream of the Fiend. All at once he saw everything clearly and moved freely again, and he watched as the Fiend stumbled backwards, pawing at its soot-covered face. Gajeel inhaled the smoke rising from it, and his eyes went wide. Devil's Puffball?! But how did, his thoughts trailed off as he turned his attention, and once again saw the blue-haired woman. But now, he truly saw her.

Because there she stood, with another bomb in her left hand. But more intriguing than the fact she had presumably crafted the very bomb the monster was susceptible to, was what her right hand was doing. Her fingers moved, danced, shaping and maintaining a small ball of flame in front of her palm. The fire lit her face in the dying light of the forest, casting her narrowed honey eyes aglow and streaks of gold through her hair in a way that he would not soon forget. Sparks danced off of her as her clothing and hair swayed in a phantom wind, and he could feel the magic radiating off of the woman.

"Are you going to move or did that not break it's hold? Now, Witcher!" Levy cried out, watching the monster begin to recover and now turn its gaze upon her. She hissed through her teeth, bringing the wick of the last bomb to her flame, as she lobbed both at the creature.

The second boom set Gajeel into motion, watching the Fiend now fall hard onto the ground. He made one final charge at the felled target. The witcher leapt, arcing his sword up, over his head, and then brought it down with everything he had into the monster's neck. The force almost cut straight through, but as the last of the Relict oil flowed into the wound, the Fiend gave one final, disoriented struggle. It lashed out, dragging claws deep into Gajeel's right arm and threw him back. After that final defiance, its life slipped away, chest caving with its last breath.

Gajeel staggered backwards, holding his hand over the wound that now had blood running rivers down his slack arm. He coughed once and shook his head, the pain from his back and arm mingling with one another. Still, he managed to turn his attention back to the woman, who stood steady, expectantly. They stared at each other for several quiet moments, the flames now gone as her visage returned to what he had mistaken for a simple herbalist earlier.

Finally, the Witcher found his words in between his heavy breaths, "You're a damn mage."

"Someone is gonna report you for those books if you leave 'em in plain view like that," Gajeel commented, followed by a groan of pain as she dabbed a wet cloth to the open flesh on his bicep. The fire at her hearth cast a bright orange light through the small abode, giving the sorceress enough light to work on his wounds. At her urging, he had come back to her home after the Fiend had been disposed of, if not just for his payment as much as a little curiosity. He sat on the floor shirtless in front of her fireplace, his tunic, chest armor, and swords on the floor next to them.

"No one here would risk losing their healer," Levy responded, trying to focus on cleaning out the injury. The Fiend's claws were filthy, and it would infect if she didn't clean this well enough before applying a salve. But, the horrific scars across his back were a distraction, more so than the perfectly muscled frame. She knew well enough what Witchers did for a living, and she felt she was staring at a book in another language. The distinctive teeth marks, large enough to be a bear's, on his shoulder. The purplish slash that ran with ragged edges diagonally from right shoulder to left hip. Multiple round scars that could have been from arrows, or spears. A burn or two. A bluish purple bruise had blossomed and spread from the center of his back, creeping outwards from where he had hit the tree. And she hadn't even fully seen his front.

"Still risky being a mage in Velen. How'd ya find yourself here?" Gajeel asked despite himself.

Levy hummed a little, dipping her rag into the water again and wringing it out. "It's a better hiding place than you'd think," she replied, not quite the answer he was looking for. "The witch hunters ransack known mages in their homes in Novigrad and classrooms at Oxenfurt. They know to find mages there, but wouldn't expect to find one like me in the swamps. And there's a need for me here."

He turned his head, looking at her from over his shoulder, studying her for a second. It made sense. If one imagined a swamp witch, they wouldn't think of one like her, a tiny beauty surrounded by flowers. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough," she answered, trying to focus, and also not give all of herself to a complete stranger.

The shortness of her answers had the opposite effect on Gajeel, because he wanted to know more about the surprise mage. "Are you in contact with the Lodge at all?" he finally asked.

Levy flicked her gaze up to him, warily. But she saw only mild curiosity on that stoic face. "I was once. We've lost touch," she put her rag aside. "They have their own charades to uphold."

Gajeel finally chuckled, giving her a wry smile, "I didn't know the Lodge took in dwarves."

The small mage prickled again and flicked a small bolt of static into his face that surprised him. "I'll kick you right out with half your damn coin and a festering wound if you don't cut that right out," she hissed. Gajeel raised a hand in surrender, still wrinkling his tingling nose, and looked back to the fire. "You're a damn brute," she started, "But you are not what I expected of a Witcher."

Gajeel raised a brow at that, "You ain't met one before?"

"You're the first," she replied. "Townsfolk talk about you all like you're as bad as the Fiend. Bloodthirsty thieves of children in the night." She'd been intrigued to the point of near excitement when she wrote and sent off the contract, knowing that she would finally have the opportunity to meet one of his kind. True, she knew enough about the beasts of this land, thanks to many books Witchers of multiple schools themselves had written, to know what the Fiend would have been weak to and had enough ingredients in her stock to make just about anything. But that alone would not have killed it. She needed a Witcher's skillset to actually dispatch the creature. And now that she knew one as infamous as he… well that could very well serve her in the future.

"And what do ya make of me?" he rumbled, turning his glimmering yellow eyes onto her.

She hesitated. "You certainly didn't have to save me, brash as it was. You knew where my coin was, I was little consequence to you."

"Eh. Bad for business if I let the people who contract me die," Gajeel mumbled, tearing his gaze from her. They went quiet then for several long moments, neither sure how much more they could probe even if they wanted to. "Thanks," he finally said after a few beats of silence. Teasing aside, she had helped him significantly, both with the Fiend and now.

Levy hummed as a simple reply, hovering her hand over the wound as a green light emanated from it. A warm sensation spread through his arm, and he looked back again to see the wound closing up, until it was just another thick, pink line across his flesh to add to his collection. "There," she said softly, leaning back from him.

Gajeel rolled his shoulder, only feeling a dull ache from his injuries now, and a throb in his head. Certainly better off than he had expected to be at the end of today. "Not bad," he commented, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. A deep sigh heaved from him. "Ya mind if I take a few? Been a long day…" he muttered. He could hear her get up to her feet and take a few steps away from him.

"Mmm," she hummed the affirmative, and it was the last he remembered before he let exhaustion take him.

When he awoke early the next morning, she was gone, and the coin purse was sitting atop his clean and folded armor, with a stalk of lavender.