Yay, someone is going to read my story! Arigato, Reader-san!
PS. This is my first FairyTail fic, so please be patient with me.
In the year that Lucy Heartfilia was born, the most beautiful woman in the world was Cana Aborona, a maid in the house of Bacchus, a duke in the Cuatro Cerberus Kingdom. It most certainly did not escape the notice of the Duke that an extraordinary creature brought in the mail each morning. Unfortunately, the Duke's notice of the girl did not escape the notice of the Duchess, either. The Duchess had, at one time, a most beautiful body herself, but those days were long gone. She had married her slightly younger husband because of political reasons, (this is well after politics,) and he married her for her money. (This was after money, but then, so is everything. But politics came shortly after.) Both were fully aware of the others intentions, but now, the couple was poor (Since the King of Cuatro had required everything from those loyal to him during a rebellion some years before.) and the Duchess saw no gain from her new political standing (Being that when the King of Cuatro lost the war against the rebels, the rebels re-worked the political structure of the kingdom, making the Duke, while still a duke, no longer in line for the Throne of Cuatro, for he was the former king's cousin, and that line was passed over for the monarchy entirely). The Duchess was, however, very smart… and she knew it well. Each day at breakfast, as she watched her husband making eyes at the fair Cana, she would scheme. And before long, she learned her rival's only flaw…
Booze.
Armed with this knowledge, the Duchess set about putting her plan in motion. Within a fortnight, the palace had become a veritable Alcoholics Anonymous deal breaker. Tray upon tray of champagne sat in the parlors. Everywhere you looked… whole kegs of beer. Bottles of wine chilled in wine coolers in the bedrooms, and brandy and whiskey waited in the halls.
Little did she know that her husband's passions for alcohol rivaled that of the maid's. The Duchess never stood a chance. Upon learning of their shared enthusiasm for all thing alcoholic, the Duke promptly left a signed notice of divorce on the chief magistrate's desk and ran off with Cana to the Kingdom of Magnolia, where they opened a bar and both drank quite a lot until old age claimed them. (Things, it might be noted, did not improve for the Duchess for years afterward. Having been divorced by the Duke, she no longer had a right to live in the Duke's home, despite the fact that he abandoned it in the name of love and alcohol. As such, not only did she no longer have the money the Duke married her for, but she also no longer had the political status she had married the Duke for. This being the case, she went to work in the mansion of the chief magistrate of Cuatro. There, she met and married the head of the housekeeping staff. Poor? Certainly. Politically advanced? By no means… but, happier than she had ever been before. This tale of the Duke, Duchess, and fair maid is well chronicled by the historian Romeo. Except that this is before Romeo.)
The year that Lucy turned ten, the most beautiful woman in the world lived in the Thunder Kingdom, a cousin of the Count Laxus by the name of Evergreen. Her skin was of a creamy perfection, unseen in the Kingdom of Thunder for 50 years. (There had only been eleven perfect complexions in all the world since accurate records were kept.) Evergreen was nineteen when a case of small pox struck the region. The girl survived, even if her skin did not fare as well.
When Lucy was fifteen, Jenny Realight, of the Blue Pegasus people, was easily the loveliest creature. Jenny was twenty-one, and so far did she outshine the nearest competition, that it seemed sure that she would remain the loveliest for many years to come. But then, one day, one of her suitors, (she had 104 of them,) a young man by the name of Hibiki, exclaimed that she was surely the most flawless person yet born. Jenny was, of course, flattered. She then began to ponder the truth behind this impassioned statement. That night, she examined herself critically, pore for pore, in her mirror. (This was after mirrors… they came somewhere betwixt money and politics.) It was noon the next day before she finished her inspection. By that time, she was convinced of Hibiki's assessment. As she wandered her family's glade in the noonday sun, she was happier than she could recall ever being before. Not only am I perfect, she thought to herself, but I am probably the first perfect person in all the world. Not one part of me can be improved. How happy for me to be rich and perfect and sensitive and young and…
Young?
The sun's heat seemed to burn a mite hotter than it had been a moment before.
Well… Jenny thought to herself, I will always be rich, and of course I'll always be sensitive, but, young? I don't really see how I'll manage to stay young. And if I'm not young, how will I stay perfect? And if I'm not perfect, I'll never get that center fold spot in Sorcerer Weekly. (Sorcerer Weekly has been around far longer than most wizards think.) And if I cannot have the Center Fold, what else is there? Jenny scrunched up her eyes to think. It was the first time she had ever scrunched her eyes, and, realizing what she had just done, she ran at a dead sprint back to her mirror to check for permanent damage. She convinced herself after some time that she was, all the same, the picture of perfection. But it was still too late.
She had begun to fret.
The first worry lines etched across her face within a week. Wrinkles showed in a month, and by year's end, creases abounded. She was married soon after, to Hibiki, the very same young mage that accused her of perfection in the first place. She gave him both happiness and hell for many years. (Happiness, for she blessed him with seven beautiful children, three girls and four boys. Hell, for she blamed him for her misfortune each time Sorcerer Weekly arrived in the mail, glaring at him every time she opened to the center fold to find, yet again, that it was not herself, but Mirajane Strauss, who was staring back at her.)
Lucy, at fifteen, of course knew nothing of these happenings. If she had, she would doubtless find the whole thing utterly ridiculous. How much difference could it have made to be only the second most beautiful? Or even eighth? (Lucy, at this age, was of course no where near that high. By this point in life, she was only barely in the top twenty-five, and that was mostly based on potential. It certainly had nothing to do with any particular care she took of herself. She despised anything that took her away from her books, and this included bathing, so she did so as little as possible. She couldn't stand to clean behind her ears. She hated washing her face, and even the thought of brushing her hair made her sick to her stomach.) There were, for Lucy, only three things that she truly enjoyed doing on her father's small farm in the countryside of Saber.
Reading her multitude of books
riding her horse, and, of course,
Tormenting the farm boy.
The horse's name was Plue. (Lucy was only five when the horse was born, and still had a mild lisp. She had wanted to call the animal "Blue", because of the slightly bluish-gray tint to his coat, but her parents had misunderstood her and her father carved the name, "Plue" on the door to his stall in the stable. Even at that young age, Lucy knew when to pick her battles with her father, and decided to go along with it.) Plue came when she called him, went where she steered him, and did what she told him. Farm Boy did what she told him too. He was actually more of a young man now, but he had been only a boy when, orphaned, he came to work for Lucy's father, for he had nowhere else to turn. And although some ten years had passed, Lucy referred to him in that manner still. "Farm Boy, bring up more water from the well." or perhaps, "load up the woodshed, Farm Boy… quickly now, lazy thing, I will call Father on you."
"As you wish."
"As you wish," three simple words. That was all he ever said to her. "Farm Boy," she might say, "go weed the vegetable garden." "As you wish" or, if she were having a bad day, or perhaps, just desired to put him in his place, "Farm Boy, slop the hogs and then brush the cows' fur… all eight of them, Farm Boy, and do not neglect to check each for fleas. Hop to it!" He would only smile. "As you wish." He infuriated her, what with his always being so cheerful.
The farm boy lived in a small hut at the rear of her father's property, and according to Lucy's mother, he kept it well near spotless. When he had candles, he would even read.
"I'll leave that lad an acre in my will." Her father was fond of saying.
"Don't spoil him, Jude." Would be her mother's response.
"And why not, Layla? He has worked this land every bit as hard as I had worked it before my father left it all to me. Hard work ought to be rewarded."
Layla would grudgingly agree. In reality, she did agree whole heartedly with her husband. However, the Heartfilia family was not known for being very well off, and she only wondered if they could afford it. After all, a dowry for Lucy had to come from somewhere. If they could get any young man interested in her. With this thought, Layla would turn on her daughter.
"You didn't bathe this morning, did you, darling?"
"I did, Mother, I did."
"Not with water," her father would join in then "you smell like hay and sweat."
"I've only just come in from my afternoon ride." came from Lucy.
"Oh, dearest," her mother would chide "You really ought to take better care of yourself. The boys don't like for their women to smell of horses."
The mere mention of those beasts in town made Lucy indignant. "Oh, the boys!" she blustered. "I care nothing for those meatheads! Plue loves me, and that is sufficient for me. Thank you very much!"
She said this speech loud, and she said it often.
But whether she liked it or not, things were only just beginning.
Shortly before her sixteenth birthday, it occurred to Lucy that not one of the village girls had spoken to her in over a month. Of course, she wasn't terribly friendly with many of the village girls, but she knew them and they knew her. They would nod; share a cheerful "hello," or some such thing as that. But lately, there had been nothing. Heads turned away as she would approach. Finally, Lucy was fed up with this treatment and cornered her only real friend, Levy McGarden, at the blacksmith's shop. This is where she always found the blue haired bookworm, if she wasn't sitting beside the well in the center of the village reading. Levy had confided in Lucy that she found the blacksmith's apprentice, a young man named Gajeel, very attractive. Lucy thought that Levy would be smarter than to desire so rough a character. But then, every girl ought to be allowed her own opinion. Gajeel was more intelligent than the rest of the lot. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he was also the only boy that did not openly stare at her ahem, chest.
Lucy asked her friend what was the matter with the rest of the girls in town.
"Well," said Levy, scratching her head, "I suppose the best person to ask would be Lisanna."
"Oh, yes of course." Lucy said glumly. She thanked Levy and headed for the tavern in the center of the village. It wasn't that she disliked Lisanna, she actually found her charming, in her own right. It is only able to be explained in this way: she envied her. Lisanna's family was always better off than Lucy's. It was by no means any fault of the white-haired girl. (You see, even this far back in history, found-less prejudices were nothing new.) The girl was actually quite sweet. Deep down, Lucy hated to think that she had hurt Lisanna in some way. She just hoped the white-haired girl wasn't too upset with her.
"I should think," sobbed Lisanna, "that after what you've done, you would at least have enough decency to know not to pretend to ask."
"But what have I done?"
"What have you done? You've made them all yours… You've stolen all of them!"
Lucy didn't have to ask any more of the white-haired girl. She knew precisely who them was.
The boys.
The hot-headed, dimwitted, knuckle-dragging, thick-skulled, boys. (Typically, Lucy would drum up more names to call them, but that would interrupt her current train of thought.) How could Lisanna accuse her of stealing them?
Who would want them, anyway?
Boys, the blonde sneered, give me a horse and an open field any day.
Boys. Indeed! All they did was pester and vex and annoy. "May I brush your horse for you, Lucy?" they might ask. "No, thank you, the farm boy does that."
Or perhaps, "May I go riding with you, Lucy?"
"No, I do enjoy riding alone."
"You think that you're better than anyone, don't you, Lucy?"
"I just like riding alone, that's all."
Even this basic conversation would result in stuttering and fumbling, and finally, come to comments about the weather.
"Does it look like rain to you, Lucy?"
"Well, I think not… the skies are clear."
"It may still rain."
"Well, yes, I suppose that it could…"
"You think that you're better than anyone, don't you Lucy?"
"No, I just don't think it's going to rain!"
At night, more often than not, they would congregate in the darkness beyond her bedroom window and laugh at her. At large, she ignored them. Usually, their laughing jeers would turn to full insult. She paid them no mind. She understood that they were mostly looking for a rise out of her. If they grew too bold and crass in their offences, the farm boy settled things for her. He would emerge from his hovel, apparently with a torch, for Lucy could see the flame from her window, and thrash them soundly. The blonde would be lying if she said that the groans of the boys, laying in the grass, accosted by the farm boy, and the frightened squeals of the girls did not often bring a faint smile to her lips. She never failed to thank the pink-haired boy for defending her honor. "As you wish," was all he ever answered.
When she was nearly seventeen, a man in a carriage came to town and watched her as she went to the market. He was still there upon her return, peering out. She paid him no mind, and indeed, by himself, he was of no importance. But he marked a turning point. Other men had eyed Lucy as she went from her father's farm to town and back. But this was the first noble to do so. And it was this gent, whose name has been lost to the passage of time, who mentioned the blonde beauty to Rogue, the captain of the guard.
Thank you for reading! I will be honest, I am a slow typer. But I am already working on part two of three for this chapter: "the Captain's Wife, a Visit and a Revelation". I will be looking to update every 3 weeks. Long time, I know… I hate it too, but it's the truth. Mwali does her frowny face…