The irregular dripping water in the distance and soft, painful moans of the other prisoners were the only sounds in the small dungeon.

Natsu was led down the steep, cold steps by two guards. Led was a nice way of putting it. Jostled and nearly shoved over the unprotected edge would be more accurate.

He felt a harsh jab to his right side, tipping him into the sturdy attack of an elbow to his spleen. Natsu didn't dare utter any noise, even when he felt the breath puff out of his mouth at the hit. He was already sore from his other fights, his chin throbbing with the still-bleeding cut.

Thinking of that first fight brought up images of Zeref watching gleefully with his cold, blank eyes. He saw his sword, bright with someone else's lifeblood, clutched in his white-knuckled grip. The head, rolling away, crimson spilling from the gaping wound.

His stomach lurched as the guard on his left sent a teasing slap to his back. Natsu stumbled down the last few steps, barely keeping from smashing his face against the rough ground. The chains on his wrists rubbed a burning line of pain across his skin.

"Behold," the guard to his left boomed, swishing an arm up in a vibrant manor and conveniently smacking the side of his head. Natsu swayed with the hit, gritting his teeth as his world spun a little. "The great and revered, Ignis Draco!"

He turned to growl at the offender, but the prison guard had stood and already had him in his grip, jerking harshly on the chains that had been latched between his wrists. Natsu swallowed his anger, forcing his body to turn away. The guard's mocking laughter and jeers bounced off his back.

"Relax," the prison guard commanded, giving the chain a sharp tug. Natsu followed after him, wary but silently grateful that this man didn't seem to find amusement in his pain.

There were two types of men that filled up King Zeref's royal guard. Ones like this, who did their duty and kept silent. They didn't purposely try hurt their charges, but they weren't exactly nice, either. They did what they were told and went home to their families for it. A rare few were even chatty, but not usually so low beneath the castle.

The other kind were the ones like the two behind him, whom he could still hear making crude, filthy jokes. Those were the kind of guards that Natsu hated the most. Like demons, but without the power, which almost made them worse. They were the scum that had praised Zeref's undertaking, assisting in his reckless slaughtering. They found joy in other's pain, and went out of their way to elicit it.

Natsu wouldn't mind fighting those men in the ring. He'd rip them to shreds if given the chance. Men who celebrated the enslavement of people, simply because they possessed a gift that they did not. If only they knew the truth about the man they served.

Magic. That was what it always boiled down to. Who had the power, and who wanted it. Zeref certainly had it, but he was part of a rare third group that had it and wanted to ensure no one else did.

It wasn't Natsu's fault that fire ran through his veins where blood ran through theirs. He was proud of his heritage. Well, he had been. A part of him still was; the legendary son of Rex Draconum, Ignis Draco. That title made him swell, even if it was the very reason he was chained and had a collar around his throat.

Since his imprisonment, Natsu had only tasted his fire a brief number of times, enough that he could count them on one hand. Training with Igneel was when he really learned to control his flames, but he had been too young before his enslavement to access the magic that had sizzled in his veins. Magic was an emotional weapon. Most people had the capacity for it, but it required a stressor to awaken it. He still remembered the day his magic appeared.

He'd been eight, already a year past in their iron clutches. He was part of an enslavement camp in Crocus. The once-great city had been home to a kingdom ruled by people called The Celestials, but like the rest of the world, it had been decimated under Zeref's control. A few of the older native prisoners told him stories of golden fields and crystal blue lakes. Those sights were long gone by the time he got there, only dry wells and scorched earth to show they'd ever existed.

Still, the land was rich in minerals and precious gems. The slaves were given a pickaxe and a spool of rope, and sent into the dangerous mines to bring back goodies. They were never allowed to return without something to show for their work, and even then the chances of them getting punished were good. The mines were dark, unlit, and dust scorched at one's throat. It became especially common as time went on and hope failed, that the prisoners would use the ropes for other means. Natsu had thankfully never run into that, as the children were kept together.

That's when he'd met her.

She was a year younger than him, her eyes a crushing blue. Her white hair was short, chopped off by some guard for his twisted amusement. The longest strands reached her chin, the shortest barely an inch from her skull, but she still managed to make it look beautiful.

Lisanna was her name. Mira was her older sister, and Elfman her brother. Natsu had heard about them all the time. He always listened to Lisanna's stories with rapt attention. She was a good storyteller, and the way she talked about her family made something in him tight and loose at the same time. Maybe it was because he didn't remember his own family. Either way, he encouraged her to tell him all about them.

She was his light in the dark, the only thing that could make him smile, even when the master got angry and whipped them. Lis never cried, and that strengthened Natsu to do the same. They became fast friends, inseparable within weeks.

Natsu learned that day why the other slaves didn't talk to each other, why they didn't get close enough to feel. He had always assumed it was because they'd given up, or because they felt so much pain that they didn't have the capacity to feel someone else's. Lisanna was his best friend, his only friend. He'd never considered it to be a weakness.

Then he'd gone and done something stupid.

He didn't even remember what had started it. A guard had told him to do something and Natsu had refused. They'd smacked him around a little, but when they saw the rebellion in his eyes, they turned their attention to his friend.

The sound of them whipping her still managed to slip into his nightmares.

Natsu had begged them to stop, told them that he'd do whatever they wanted him to do. Two had punched him too, then held him up so he could watch. He was forced to endure it as they ripped off her shirt and loosed their evil whips across her back. Lines of red rose to the surface on her pale skin, but Lisanna never cried out. Then, they'd flipped her over, and one held her throat. The other pulled his pants down and grabbed a knife.

Natsu lost it. One moment they were standing over her prone, naked body, laughing and twisting the knife deeper, staining it a darker red, her screams ripping through the air. The next, they were piles of ash.

He started with the two holding him. Their pathetic souls had withered under his anger. He had barely registered their anguished shouts as his fire burned them from the inside out. Then he was onto the next to, nails ripping into the throat of the one with the knife, flaming fist coming down on the other. Natsu had felt their blood on his hands distantly, barely hearing their shouts. He only remembered the heat, the comforting sense of power that awakened within him. It had wrapped around him like a flaming cocoon. He had felt unstoppable, untouchable, and maybe a part of him understood why people feared those like him.

It hadn't mattered in the end. The men were dead, but so was she. When he'd finally calmed down he abandoned the guards, bloody and broken, and came to her side to see her eyes staring up at the sky, mouth still parted from her last scream. He had seen the mark of tartaros that they'd carved into her stomach. The bruises where they'd choked the life from her around her thin, pale neck...

Natsu was shaken from his dark memories by the groaning of an iron door. He blinked back into reality, realizing with surprise that they were at his cell.

The man beside him grunted when Natsu raised his arms. He unslung a key from his neck, pushing it into the locks and undoing the chains. They clattered against the dusty ground softly, kicking up sand. Natsu turned away, walking into the cell. He didn't turn when the door was shut, the scraping of the locks returning.

He waited for the guard to walk away before flopping onto his makeshift bed. It was much smaller than he was, pushed into the corner as if to be kept from sight. The expanse of his home wasn't much, perhaps a couple of feet between the bars and his back wall, twice that the other way. The ground was dirt and sand, sparsely covered with moldy hay. Two little buckets in the corner served as his bathroom and water source. Pity on him if he confused the two.

Even with the collar on, they weren't crazy enough to leave fire within twelve feet of him. The only source of light came from the miniscule window high above his head, about as wide as his fists put together. The cell was dark enough that a normal man would be left to stumble around, but Natsu wasn't normal.

He went to the makeshift bathroom, disposing himself into one bucket, and then picked up the other. It was half full, and a little murky, but gratefully cold. He tipped it back, chugging down two large mouthfuls. There was a leftover grimy feeling to his mouth, but at least his throat didn't feel so dry.

Bending to put the bucket back, he hissed at a sharp pain in his side. Natsu had been made to fight three other people after his pregame, each of them harder than the last. The only bright side was that they were good enough that their loss didn't dictate death. The downside was that they were good enough to leave painful bruises and cuts on his body.

One particular bastard had slashed his side, using a cheap shot by throwing sand at his face. Natsu had stumbled back, vision swaying, feeling the blood beginning to pool. He'd glared at the maniacal laugh his blonde-haired opponent let loose. Natsu had fought against him once or twice before, and neither had been a pleasurable experience. He wasn't as good as the pink-haired gladiator, but he was insane and never above using cheap tricks. Cruel, especially to those less than him. He took pleasure in the kill, and went by the name Zancrow.

Carefully he hobbled back to his cot, gratefully sinking onto the soft cushion. He leaned back against the rough, cool stone, letting the chill sink through his heated skin. The collar tugged annoyingly at his neck, but he was content to just relax and think. He had already been informed of tonight's match, and it ticked annoyingly at him. Another dragonslayer. He hadn't met one since Igneel…

Worrying about it wasn't going to do him any good. He closed his eyes, deciding to take a nap while he waited for Zeref to send one of the healers take a look at him. Far be it from the dark King to waste a crowd-pleaser like him. Natsu wanted to laugh at the irony of it.

Letting his breath even out, he drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

Jellal was an enigma.

He hadn't said another word as he led Lucy around the castle, farther and farther from Angel's wrath. He kept that comforting hand on her back, but his face might as well have been hewn from stone for all it moved. As soon as he had led Lucy to his quarters, he had set her on a chair and disappeared through another door, not an order to be given besides a quiet "Wait here". That had been nearly two hours ago.

For the first half hour, she had sat still as a statue. She wouldn't have put it past the strange man to have some sort of magic that told him if she moved. When her patience finally frayed and she stood, she half expected him to leap out from behind the curtain and kill her.

He didn't. So she started to explore. Tentatively at first, just taking in her surroundings from the bench. Jellal was certainly a man who appreciated the finer things in life. He'd left her in a serving room, the area set to take in guests. There was a marble table at the far right side, with an unused tea set displayed. Soft, white cushioned chairs were set of on either side.

The walls were pearl, glittering with the soft light that came through the windows. The curtains were sheer white, allowing for the light to gloss across the room. There was an unlit fireplace on the far wall, the top decorated with an assortment of clocks. Lucy had examined them curiously, her attention mostly captured by a four-legged clock with a gold bar ellipsing it. None of them showed the same time though, whether it be by a few minutes or hours. She considered them and then gave it up. Far be it from her judging the guy's clock fetish.

The rest of the room was filled up by an armoire that was locked when she tugged on it's golden handels, and the cushioned bench that Jellal had deposited her on. A few paintings of scenic views covered the wall with the door that Jellal had went through. What truly interested Lucy was the writing desk pushed into the far corner, covered with stray papers.

The author in her was delighted by the delicate, classy station. Even if it was a bit on the messier side, the polished red wood and the abandoned quill called to that small part of her soul that was young and full of dreams. She had managed to resist it for a while, but when the room yielded nothing short of breaking into the armoire, she padded over to it.

She approached the desk cautiously, glancing at the door beside it. There hadn't been a sound on the other side since his disappearance, but Lucy knew if he decided to appear, she'd have no good excuse as to why she was across the room from where he'd left her. She paused a moment, but when the door didn't burst open, she gave it up and picked up a piece of paper.

It was a ledger of some sort, listed with words that had little to no meaning to her. Still she began to recite them, forcing her mind to burn the random words into her memory. Even a seeming grocery list would assist to Fairy Tail's cause. If she ever made it back to them.

She shook her head and moved onto a more promising page. It did her no good to think like that. She would make it back. Jellal had taken her, no matter his sinister plans, and he was surely higher up than Angel.

She moved through a few more papers, memorizing but finding nothing of use. For some reason, the dark scary man who made Cobra back down enjoyed writing love poems in his free time. Lucy huffed after the fourth one, letting the papers flutter back onto the desk. Whoever had captured Jellal's heart sure had him good. Unfortunately, she just didn't see the use in this. Maybe she could mock him and he'd let her go out of embarrassment?

"All of my secrets are hidden in the bottom drawer."

Lucy screamed, turning so fast her hip bumped into the inkwell and sent it crashing to the floor. She looked up, her skin chilling when the very man she'd just been mocking in her mind was standing before her.

She was so very dead.

"L-lord Jellal," she stammered, mind reeling to think of how she could rectify this. "I'm terribly s-sorry. I was, was just, I um…"

"Stop."

She did, lips slamming closed. Her eyes fell from his intimidating gaze, landing around his chest. Her body shook, beginning to shrink on itself. She could already feel the hit, and closed her eyes in preparation.

A minute passed. And then another. Lucy dared to open her eyes, and look up. She was shocked when no hit came, and that the great scary Jellal was smiling at her.

It was a soft look, and it made him appear younger, more innocent. Lucy gaped at him uncomprehendingly, especially when he began to chuckle.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Lucy," he said reassuringly, backing up as if he realized his close presence was scaring her. "And I'm sorry for frightening you. It was just too hard to resist."

Lucy blinked, then blinked again. When she opened her mouth, all that her intelligent mind could manage was, "You know my name?"

Jellal looked surprised, and then a realization came over him. He muttered something under his breath, and to Lucy's utmost shock, slapped a hand to his forehead. The image would have been hilarious if she weren't so confused. He shook his head, speaking through the hand still across his face. "I thought Erza would have told you. Mavis, you must have been terrified."

"Er...za?" Much slower than she'd ever admit, it dawned on her. "You're the informant?"

Sighing, Jellal removed his hand and straightened his jacket. He looked over at Lucy, and she could see the regret in his eyes. "Yes. I'm sorry for not finding you sooner, though apparently you wouldn't have known me anyway. I've been trying to find you, but the timing hasn't been right. Imagine my shock when you just walked right up to me. It was a little difficult to recognize you without the blonde hair, though."

"You...you're the one who set me up with Angel?" Her mind was still reeling, trying to comprehend the situation. This man was her ally?

Jellal straightened, regaining some of his pristine regality. His eyes found her cheek, and she somehow knew he was looking at the mark on her face. Angel's last gift to her. "I'm sorry," he said honestly, and there was some feeling to his voice. Perhaps regret. "I know she can be brutal, but she was the easiest person I could steal you from. She has so many girls, it would hardly be noticed if one went missing."

"Except you went right up to her face and took me." Lucy touched the marks self-consciously, and Jellal's eyes found somewhere else to look.

He shrugged, a humorless smile ghosting his face. "You ran into me in the halls. Cobra and Hoteye were witness to it. I could have taken you for the pleasure of a pretty serving girl, or a new pet to torture. Either would be a believable story." He said the last part bitterly, resentment coloring his words. Suddenly Lucy felt a pang of guilt for him. How much had he had to endure, pretending to be a demon under Zeref's rule? How many had he been forced to hurt? How long had he had to wear that mask?

She knew about masks all too well. They were taxing, and she could see the toll it took on Jellal. Weary exhaustion lined his shoulders and mouth, and there was a dark shadow in his eyes. She knew that look, saw it every time she looked in a mirror. There was no escaping that sort of self-hatred. But there were ways to ease it.

Carefully, she reached out for his hand. He stilled at her touch, looking at her with sharp eyes. A little stiffly, she felt her magic rise. It ghosted through her, gaining courage and brightening by the time it reached her fingertips. She allowed it to go free, just a little, only enough to touch his.

His magic flared in response, and Lucy felt the smile rise to her face when a familiar sense to her own magic reached back. It felt strangely good to smile. She looked up, knowing that her eyes had probably begun to glow, but not caring. "Thank you," she told him honestly, her magic burning a little bit brighter with gratitude. Because there were indeed thanks to be given.

Jellal swallowed and nodded his head, accepting her thanks and the other, silent message she'd passed to him. She carefully drew her magic back, removing her hand from his. Her chest felt strangely full, as if just that touch of shared magic had filled in the cracks that had begun to fracture her soul.

Jellal's expression hardened, but she could see that he held his shoulders higher, as if a weight had been removed. His smile was a little less grim when he offered her one. "I know you have little reason to trust me, but you will have to in order for this to succeed. We are strangers, and I can't rectify that in a few days. Nor can I tell you everything. As it is we're going to have to play a dangerous game."

He moved toward the window, glancing out of it as if someone might be listening in. The diluted light shone over his red tattoo, and Lucy silently wondered what it meant. "I have managed to shield my mind from Cobra, but I can't shield you without him getting suspicious. However, his power isn't as vast as he likes people to believe. He can only hear your thoughts as long as you are within his sights, and he can't hear more than one person at a time. Keeping you away from him will be difficult, so when you're in his presence you cannot think of me as anything but your master."

"I understand," Lucy replied immediately. She'd played the obedient servant more times than she liked. She knew how that game was played. Lucy watched the way his shoulders tensed and untensed, and she had the feeling he was hiding something very important. "Is there anything else I should know?" She trusted him, as much as she could in this situation. He had Erza's approval, and she knew her red-haired friend would not have handed her life to that of a stranger.

Jellal turned, his face conflicted, trying to figure what information would be too sensitive to risk. "I found what you were searching for," he said carefully. Lucy gasped, but he continued onward. "I have a plan to retrieve it, and get us out of here. For now though you need to do what I say, when I say it. Are you willing to do that? It doesn't have to be you."

She realized belatedly that he was offering her an out. If she didn't want to, he would find some other serving girl to take her place. She would be able to stay in this room, under his protection. She would be safe.

A selfish little part of her wanted to take his boon. She had done so much already, risked so much. Did she want to give up her life as well?

Yes. She would, she discovered a little breathlessly. She would die if she had to. For this information, for the sake of all the people in this world, her life was nothing. She would gladly give it up if it meant freedom.

Lucy smiled. "Where do we start?"

They started in the dungeons apparently.

Jellal, true to his words, hadn't said much about what his plan was. Lucy didn't fault him for it, though she was annoyed that she'd be running it blind.

His first act had been to get her a change of clothes. He had let her use his shower, which Lucy was immensely grateful for, and had gifted her a well-fitting white shirt and a black skirt. The skirt was on the shorter side, and the shirt was tight around her bust, but Jellal told her it was the style that the higher-class servants wore. She wouldn't be bothered in such an outfit, even if she might be leered at.

It didn't seem to matter once they stepped out of the door. Jellal's cold, detached mask slipped back on, and Lucy ducked her head, ever the demure servant trying to avoid her master's wrath. They made their way down the hall, and while Lucy knew there were eyes watching, they weren't on her.

Well, not her directly. They mostly passed the lower-level demons and guards. No matter the status, all conversations went silent as Jellal passed. They watched him fearfully, shrinking back to give him as much space as they could short of becoming one with the walls and furniture. Lucy took it in with silent surprise, glancing at the blue-haired man from the corner of her eye. He didn't look particularly terrifying as they walked, but her memory flashed back to the look he'd given Angel. The perfected mask of a demon. She wondered how many had been on the receiving end of that face, and decided she didn't want to know.

She wanted to reach out to Jellal as she had earlier, comfort him with a silent pulse of magic. Her magic had conveyed everything that she could not with words, which the irony was not lost on her author brain. Magic was a living thing, a condensed fabrication of their feelings and history. She had told Jellal all he'd needed to know in that simple touch, and in turn gotten the same from him.

But she didn't need to feel his magic to know that he loathed what he had to become outside those doors. She'd heard it in his voice, seen it in the shadows of his eyes. Perhaps, if the rumors she heard following them were true, he had once been that monster. Not anymore.

Lucy did not get the chance to comfort him, nor did she dare let her magic reach out to him. No one had noticed in the privacy of his rooms, which were no doubt warded, but someone would pick up on the spike of light magic so far out in the open.

Besides that, Jellal quickly led them through the castle, Lucy stumbling after him as best she could. He had been unable to remove her chains beyond her shower, as all slaves were accustomed to wearing them. The short reprieve had been a cruel blessing, even if the sight of her raw wrists had made something in her gut clench. Putting them back on had almost made her reconsider his earlier offer, but she had forced herself to be still when he locked them back into place.

She really began to get curious when Jellal descended lower and lower through the castle. Her confusion cleared when they reached a thick black door, and he began leading her down a roughly hewn set of stairs. They were made of stone, but that didn't stop her from questioning their structural integrity. Jellal went down them fearlessly though, so Lucy had no choice but to follow.

The smell of rot hit her halfway down. She wrinkled her nose, trying not to gag on the stench. Were there dead bodies down here?

The end of the stairs brought a live person, though he was rather pale looking. He had a gruff face, distrustful and petulant. He was the first person to look at Jellal with anything beside fear.. Lucy wondered if he was stupid or spent too long down there.

"Lord Jellal," he greeted with a stiff bow. Lucy recognized the knight's badge on his arm in the dim lighting. She wondered how such a feeble looking man could be considered a knight, but she knew that Zeref's royal guards came in all shapes and sizes. They were only fronts, anyway. A semblance of order given for the humans they ruled to perceive.

"I'm here about the reports I asked for," Jellal said, sounding bored and devoid of any real emotion. Lucy kept her own face carefully blank as the man nodded, and turned around. They followed, and found themselves in a small room. An office of sorts, if the cluttered desk said anything. There was a heavy steel door behind her, deadbolted and locked, and a single cat picture on the wall. Outside of that the room was devoid of any furnishings.

"Here you are," the man heaved up a large folder, nearly bursting. "Death reports of the last fifteen years. At least, one part of them." The man looked up with watery blue eyes, sniffing. "What do you need with a bunch of dead people?"

She expected Jellal to dish out an angry, all-powerful "who is thy mortal to question me" sort of thing. He shocked her when a secretive smile slipped onto his face, almost scarier than his indifference. "The dead can tell us many things."

The man finally seemed a little disturbed too, because he backed up with a grimace. Jellal pretended not to notice, grabbing the folder. The thing was a few inches thick at least, but he gave it a cursory glance and looked back at the man. "The rest?"

"Being gathered as we speak, M'lord. Should they be sent to your room?"

"No. Keep them in the library. I will gather them myself. For now, I'll use your office to look through these." A command, and one the guard didn't look happy about but wouldn't dare oppose.

"Of course. And your servant?"

Lucy blinked at being addressed. She had already been planning to help Jellal read through the names, but she realized that slaves didn't know how to read.

"She's a healer," Jellal replied without flinching. He waved his hand to the door behind them. "Have her treat some of your wounded. The rotting flesh reeks."

"A-as you wish." Lucy looked to Jellal questioningly as the jailor began to unlock said door, but the man was already scanning through his papers. She glared, turning when she heard the hinges squeak. Trust, she reminded herself.

She followed the scrawny guard through the door, which opened into a large catacomb. On either side there were divots, with long bars between the floor and the ceiling. A dungeon, she realized slowly. The rotting flesh, as Jellal said, grew only more pungent.

The man closed the door behind them, relocking it and effectively shutting her off from her companion. Lucy silently grumbled, taking in the place with restrained disgust. Jellal's papers better be worth this.

"Here," the man grunted, thrusting a dingy pail into her arms. It was full of water, and heavy, and it almost ended up splashing all over her. She dared a glare at his back, but he was already grabbing rolls of bandages and shoving them towards her. "It doesn't need to be a perfect job. Just clean the wound and wrap it and move on."

Lucy nodded her affirmation and began to follow after him. It was awkward carrying so much with a chain linking her wrists, let alone the ones around her ankles.

Jellal hadn't lied when he called her a healer, though this wasn't the kind of healing she was used to. She healed with magic, had learned from an old friend of sorts how to do quick battlefield repairs. She'd never fixed more than a broken bone, especially not in the non-magical way with bandages and water.

"Lucky for you, our other healers ran through here earlier. Only two guys who need some," the jailor told her. Oh lucky me indeed.

Yet, Lucy let herself gaze into some of the cells they passed. Most were dingy, and so dimly lit she wasn't sure anyone was even in them. Her eyes sought out any familiar faces, but was disappointed and relieved when she found none.

They stopped in front of a better lit cell. There was a torch on the wall, illuminating the inside. A young man sat on the floor, leaning back and relaxing as far as she could tell. He even lifted his head and smiled when the jailor hit the bars. Lucy felt herself tense. There was nothing kind about that smile, or the wild look his red eyes took when they landed on her.

"Zancrow," the jailor summoned, and the man stood. He was bare from neck down, a pair of low-riding loose pants his only clothes. He had long blonde hair, spiked crazily around his head. It almost hid the blinking collar that was locked around his neck. Not chains, but his own kind of restriction.

"Well aren't you a pretty little thing," Zancrow cooed, swaggering up to the door. He smiled, revealing sharp teeth. "You should let her stay down here for a while. We're always looking for a bit of entertainment."

Lucy shivered, not wanting to know what his idea of entertainment was. The jailor only gave him an unimpressed look, motioning for him to stick his arms through the slot. "Shut up so she can wrap you up."

Zancrow did so, but Lucy had the sense it was for his own amusement rather than any obligation to following orders. The man locked a pair of thick cuffs around his wrists, and only when they were secure did he open the door.

The blonde man backed up when they entered, that unsettling smile still warping his face. Lucy shivered at the chill of the environment, taking a bit of pity as she viewed the decrepit looking cell. A little cot and a bucket in the corner were the only furnishings of the space.

"At the wall," the jailor commanded, pulling out a menacing looking stick. Lucy jumped when a bolt of electricity came out one end, the water sloshing at her motion. Zancrow's smile widened, and he placed himself against the wall, obediently lifting his bound wrists.

The jailor tied the chains to a notch that Lucy hadn't noticed, quickly ducking down to lock the man's ankles in place as well. Zancrow didn't move, but Lucy had a feeling he could have very easily crushed this man if he'd wanted to. As if sensing her thoughts, the blonde man looked up and winked, his smile turning feral.

Lucy gulped, fear rising, especially when the jailor stepped back and motioned her to do her thing. She crept forward, trying to stamp out that innate terror, but there was something about this man that had all the warnings in her head going off. Her magic guttered at him, confused between wanting to eliminate the threat or run from it.

She distracted herself with her task. There only seemed to be a long slice on his abdomen, shallow but bleeding well-enough. She reached into the bucket, finding a sponge there, and began to work.

Zancrow didn't speak as she cleaned the wound, but she felt him eyeing her the entire time. Like a predator sizing up its prey. She made sure not to rise to his hidden challenge, working quickly and effectively. The water reddened when she put the sponge back, and she grabbed the bandages to wrap it up. It was hardly healing but it would hopefully keep away infection. Or maybe she should just let him get infected. Maybe it would wipe the stupid smile off his face.

When her task was done, Lucy picked up the bucket and moved away. "Oh Doc," Zancrow called in a sugary voice that had her shivering. "You missed a spot."

She didn't want to, but she rose to meet his eyes. They were blood red, even darker than Gajeel's, and completely soulless. She didn't let herself breathe as she asked, "Where?"

Zancrow's smirk widened, noting the rebellion in her eyes. "Right here," he cooed, thrusting his hips off the wall. Lucy knew the implication, and her body grew hot with indignation and disgust. He laughed loudly at her expression.

"That's enough," the jailor grumbled, jabbing the stick at him. Zancrow grunted at the electricity rocking through him, but was still laughing.

That laughter followed Lucy all the way into the hall, and down to the next cell. Her skin crawled, body tense and on edge. Her magic roiled under her skin. Oh Jellal better have had a good reason for sending her here.

They reached the next cell, Zancrow's laughter fading into the background. This cell was dimmer, just barely lit enough for her to see a figure lying on the bed. The jailor whacked the bars to get his attention. His relaxed form stiffened as he rose, but Lucy had a feeling he'd been awake for a while.

He approached the bars steadily, looking out at them with cool dark eyes. Lucy felt herself stiffen when he came into view, and heat flared through her, though she couldn't begin to imagine why.

Like Zancrow, all he wore were a pair of pants, with the exception of a white scarf around his neck. No shirt but a scarf, really? He was in much worse shape than the other man. A red slash was already beginning to scar over his chin, another cut across his upper chest and one along the sides of his ribs still bleeding heavily. She idly wondered if her flimsy bandages would be enough for him.

He was tall, lean and packed with muscle. The thing that drew her curiosity was his hair, which was a dark pink. He was watching them warily, his eyes skipping over the jailor and latching onto her.

She felt like he could see right through her, all the way to the magic in her veins. It certainly wasn't helping that said magic was thrumming through her body, making her giddy with something she couldn't place. She tampered it down, shifting under his scrutiny. Suddenly it felt like she was the one behind the bars.

"Hands out," the jailor commanded. The man followed, tan arms sliding through the small gap. Lucy recognized faded scars around his wrists before the cuffs swallowed them. She tried to remember how to breathe while the door was pushed open and the man led back.

Like before, the jailor lifted his arms to that tiny hook. Except when he did it this time, Lucy noticed the brief flinch of pain that crossed the man's face.

"Stop," she said without thinking, her voice high in the dead air. Both men froze, staring at her. She flushed under their attention, biting her lip. "His side is injured. If you lift his arms like that it will tear more."

The jailor looked at said side, which was indeed bleeding heavier than before. Reluctantly he lowered the man's arms, glancing between the wound and her. "What would you have me do?"

"Just leave him." Really, did she have no self-preservation. Dangerous, bloody, probably-could-easily-kill-her-with-a-single-finger man and she just wanted to leave him, more than able to choke the life out of her. Those muscles certainly looked strong enough to do it. Stop looking at his muscles!

The jailor looked ready to protest, but the man cleared his throat. "I won't lay a finger on her."

His voice was deep, rich in a way that didn't belong to this country. She wondered where he came from, how he'd ended up here.

To her surprise, the man nodded at the prisoner's words, as if that were confirmation enough. She tried to not let it weaken her resolve when the jailor stepped back, and she was placed before the pink-haired man unbound.

She felt nervous again, but for a totally different reason now. He was looking down at her with those dark eyes, but there wasn't anything bad in his gaze. He was more so assessing her, wariness in his gaze, as if she were going to hurt him. She realized she could, if she'd truly wanted to. It made her sad. She wondered how many had abused that power.

"I won't hurt you, either," she swore in the silence. He blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. It melted away and he nodded, lowering his arms. She breathed in, grabbing the sponge and approaching him slowly. "I'm going to start with this cut on your chin."

He didn't say anything, but Lucy saw the acknowledgement in his eyes. He was still scanning her, but with curiosity now. She reached up to dab the cut, wondering how many of the healers bothered talking to them, if at all.

"This is a nasty one," she said. It was odd with her own voice filling up the voluminous silence, but she couldn't stand the quiet anymore. "It'll probably scar. I won't be able to wrap it."

She cleaned it and moved on. His eyes watched her all the while, silently taking in the information she offered. She talked mostly as a distraction, especially when she got to the cuts on his chest and side. They were deeper, and she was sure the water stung, even if his face didn't move.

By the time Lucy got to his side, the jailor was off checking on other cellmates who'd started a racket. So much for her brave protector, though she hadn't needed him anyway. Her patient hadn't moved once, only when she directed him to shift his arms for her to get better access. She tried to limit that movement, not wanting to aggravate his injuries.

Lucy moved to his side, having him raise his arms just enough to get a sight of his final wound. When she saw it up close, a hiss slipped through her teeth. His eyes shot to hers in a second, eyes questioning.

"It's infected," she muttered. Indeed the wound was already turning green around the edges, and pus was beginning to leak out with the blood. "How long have you had this cut?"

"A couple hours." Lucy blinked, not really expecting him to answer. She frowned at the information. The amount of infection that had set in shouldn't be possible after only a few hours. Even in such crappy conditions as this, it would take days to reach this level.

Tentatively she reached out, closing her eyes and letting the thinnest thread of her magic rise to the surface. It reached out, touching his wound, and was met with a wall of black. She pulled back immediately, teeth clenched. The man watched on, none the wiser.

Magic. Someone had used dark magic on him, though she had to wonder how. It wasn't particularly powerful, but if left untreated, it very well could have taken his life.

Lucy bit her lip. She tried to convince herself to pull away, but she looked up at those dark eyes and felt her resolve weaken. Carefully she trotted back to the door of the cell. A quick glance out assured her that the jailor was still busy with the other prisoners. She turned back, ignoring the curious look he was giving her.

She approached his side again, reaching out to ghost her fingertips over the wound. The dark magic nipped at her scathingly, as if sensing her own. She looked up at the man.

"Turn your face away," she commanded quietly. He blinked, raising an eyebrow, but did as he was told. She breathed in deeply, and pressed her palm against the wound.

Her magic slithered through her veins, coming out of her hand to touch his wound. It prodded into his skin, his ribs jumping with breath under the feeling. Lucy closed her eyes, magic pushing against the dark remnants in his skin. For a brief moment they fought, light against dark, and then with a push, the darkness broke. Her magic sunk into his skin, dispelling the curse, and removing the infection.

She pulled away before it could begin to heal the wound itself. Breathing deeply, she forced the magic low into her stomach and backed up. The wound had stopped bleeding, and began to scar. She sighed, but figured it was the best she could do short of healing it, which was a no-no.

Looking up, she found the man staring at her with wide eyes. She could see the surprised and half-terrified look he wore. For the first time, she noticed the collar blinking at his throat, hidden under that damned scarf.

Stupid. She was so stupid, but she couldn't say she regretted it. She pulled away, giving him a tired smile. "I'm sorry, but that's all I can do."

He didn't return it, instead surprising her when he asked, "Why?"

She knew he wasn't asking about her words, rather her actions. Lucy shrugged. "I hate to see people suffer."

Lucy turned away, gathering up her supplies and heading back toward the cell door. She could hear the jailor's footsteps returning, and she idly wondered if Jellal had felt that small pulse of magic.

She walked out the door, ready to head back to a room for a few hours of peace a quiet, when she heard a soft voice.

Lucy felt a smile work her face, but she didn't dare turn back around. The jailor approached, closing the door behind her and relocking it. He didn't say anything as they made their way back to the room where Jellal was still working.

"I'm Natsu."

Somehow she knew her secret would be safe.