AN: I love all of your reviews! They make me fuzzy and happy and all.
Disclaimer: Do I still need to write this? Whatever. I don't own Fairy Tail.
~ Knight in Battered Armour ~
Her skirts swished with every purposeful stride, inky black eyes sweeping over her surroundings. Servants and aristocrats alike murmured and scuttled respectfully aside in her eyes- in theirs, they were retreating to safety from a rampaging monster. She didn't care for their motives as long as they were out of her way.
The young woman was almost always in a foul mood about something or other, and few were spared from her shrewd, sadistic nature. It was most unladylike, but none dared to mention this for fear of her temper. Today she had a goal and lord have mercy on any obstruction, be it accidental or otherwise.
Eventually, she made it to the servant's quarters. She found it odd that, of all the places he was offered, he chose to share with the staff. But he was a strange man, and she was willing to tolerate that out of necessity.
The moment she entered the dining hall, people scattered, scurrying away as they did whenever she or a member of her family entered this area. It always meant business.
She grabbed onto a servant before she could leave- a teenager, only a year or so younger than herself. "I request to have my chamber cleaned again: the maids have done a terrible job of it."
The younger girl looked at her with wide eyes. She must have been new. "With all due respect, I work in the kitch-"
A good hard slap to the face had her apologising and swiftly making her departure, tears in her eyes and the print of a hand in angry red.
The noblewoman took a second to breathe and calm herself before turning to him. He was the only being in the room that had not fled at the sight of her, staring instead. His eyes were different to hers- whilst she had eyes that were witchy and intimidating, his seemed more sombre and melancholy. They always had her on edge, she who was used to either obedience or plain venom. His gaze was tinged with subtle defiance, which she despised.
He made no comment on her mistreatment of the poor other girl, though she could sense his distaste. She sat across from him, wondering if he found it amusing to make a woman of high birth sit in the servant's quarters. If he did, he was doing a fantastic job of masking his pleasure.
"I want to talk to you," she said curtly.
He shrugged. "Then talk."
There was a pause between them as she narrowed her eyes, feeling as though he was trying to humiliate her. The worst thing was that she didn't have the power to punish him.
Keep classy, keep dignified.
She laced her fingers together, leaning in, the faintest wisp of a smile on her lips in anticipation of finally setting something into motion.
"We have a mission for you."
"Erza?"
The red haired woman looked up from what she was doing to see the familiar face of none other than Juvia. It was the day after the festival, with the pair setting off for home that evening.
Erza had to admit, she had been surprised when Juvia returned with her dress torn and a clump of forget-me-nots. The maid had insisted that it was nothing important, claimed that she got the flowers from a street seller. Erza knew better, of course, and smiled to think that Juvia might have an admirer somewhere. The one time she had suggested that, it had sent the younger girl into silence with such a perplexed expression that it was laughable.
Now, however, Juvia's face was serious. When Erza invited her in, she stood stiffly, eyes darting around the room as if expecting an enemy to jump out at any moment.
"What's wrong, Juvia?" Erza asked, getting up with concern for her friend.
There was a slight pause before the other woman spoke. "If you will forgive me asking… Erza, who is Jellal?"
If the knight held any sort of surprise to this question, she had no expression betraying this. "Natsu-"
"Yes. He has been asking."
Erza's face was stony, fixed in a neutral expression. Even her voice was hard, as though her life hung on her words. "Jellal is dead."
Even she wasn't sure as to whether or not that sentence was true.
Erza hung her head as the others (pitiful beings, bony and desperate) fought and howled over the scraps of food that had been thrown to them. Her hair – odd hair, red as rubies – just about managed to shield her face and remove them from her line of sight. It was a mess, a great big tousled mess, but at least she didn't have to see these animalistic beings in their raw, primitive frenzy. Even so, she wasn't in that good a state herself.
Those left behind were the castoffs. People wanted their slaves to be young adults. Strong men for work, pretty women for pleasure. Even most of the children had been accepted for unskilled labour that would most likely ruin their health and drive them to their graves prematurely (but when Erza thought about it, she realised they wouldn't even have graves and in her eyes that was the worst of it.). But some had been rejected. The old, the lame and Erza.
During the raid, she had lost her right eye to the man who killed her mother. When customers saw a ragged, scrawny pre-teen with an eyepatch, they shrugged and moved on to the next slave. After all, none of them wanted to buy damaged goods. It had taken Erza a long time to come to terms with it, but she had eventually come to accept that she had become such- nothing but an object.
On the other hand, her lost eye was a help. Not even children were safe from the perverse market (indeed, Erza had witnessed many an unfortunate youth being sold for 'entertainment') but her defiled beauty meant that they carried on after a glance. Such a defect was actually what kept her away from the worst of it.
In her time with the slave market, Erza had learned what you definitely didn't want to be sold into. Prostitution was a debated one- some argued that brothel life wasn't all too bad, that with any luck you could catch the eye of a rich man and all trouble would be a thing of the past. But the very thought of it made her stomach churn.
Ribbon making, that was another bad one. The sound of it was pleasant; it conjured up images of blushing ladies in pretty dresses, dainty balls and the height of elegance. True, that was the finished product, and yes, just sitting there turning a hand loom didn't sound too bad. But it was that endless whirling that caused suffering, messed up your brain and spine and sent you spiralling into the afterlife. Ribbon making made mine work look like paradise.
Of course it wasn't all doom. Some made it as house slaves and actually had quite pleasant lives. Others were personal assistants or, if they were skilled enough, they could hold high ranking positions.
But they were also ornaments, and nobody wanted Erza on their mantelpiece.
Another con of her ruined eye- she could only ever cry half of her tears whilst the rest built up, waiting for the dam to burst and for Erza to break down.
Shackles clinked and dug into her skin as they were loaded in. From what conversation Erza had picked up, they were to work at a mill spinning cotton. That didn't seem too bad, at least it didn't bend your brain or strip you of what rags of dignity remained.
Loaded into the cart, in the dark like cattle a thin shaft provided ventilation and light. Erza leaned against the side as they bumped and tossed. But that was the least of Erza's concerns.
"Why the long face?"
The red haired girl started, turning to the speaker- a boy around her age. She couldn't make out much in the strip of light, but he was beaming at her. His hair seemed blue (she couldn't tell what shade), his eyes evergreen. On his face was some kind of mark or tattoo- a tribal thing perhaps? Erza didn't dwell on it. This kid was smiling and that was like a breath of fresh air.
She couldn't think of what to say, but he carried on anyway. "Cool eyepatch! Does it have some power?" he joked. Erza couldn't help but let out an awkward chuckle.
"No…but I wish it could."
"Yeah! Then you could use your magic eye to get us out of here!"
Others in the cart turned to stare at the two kids howling with laughter at a joke that hadn't even been that funny. For some reason this boy seemed toglow and it wasmagnificent.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Erza."
He tilted his head to the side. "What's your surname?"
She shrugged. Back on Tenrou Island, they hadn't needed surnames.
"Hmm…" his hands were shackled, but he nodded to her red hair."I'll call you Scarlet. Erza Scarlet."
For some reason, it fitted perfectly. "And you are?"
"Jellal Fernandes, at your service!"
He was her guiding light.
When night fell and the rest huddled up on filthy mattresses, Jellal and Erza were on the roof. They were nimble enough to scramble up. It seemed as though they were on top of the world, and Jellal would spin wild tales of them flying off into the distance to freedom.
She was his guardian angel.
Erza was not a perky girl. She wasn't bright and bubbly. But she dreamed because he did and it was actually enjoyable despite the fact that it was as useless as her right eye. There were lots of things that Erza didn't know- that she was beautiful, that she was one of the strongest people he had ever met, that just a glance from her was enough to make Jellal feel as though he was floating. That, so long as Erza was by his side, nothing could ever go wrong in the world.
He was her strength.
Jellal's spirit was unbreakable, no doubt about it. Without him, Erza would have cracked and lost it. Her dam would have broken and she'd be a dried out husk like the others. But it was their little night rendezvous' that kept her going through the days. And the days turned into weeks, months, years working in that cotton hellhole. But each hour spent together felt like minutes, whilst the work day dragged out for eternity. Had she not lost all hope in the supernatural, she would say that he was magic.
She was his hope.
He wasn't a dashing hero, but she was willing to cling onto him. Jellal Fernandes, the boy whose family were quarantined from disease. Who was the only survivor, sitting amongst the dead bodies of his siblings. Who was deemed evil, tattooed as a sign of his sin and sold on the slave market. Who was shunned as an outcast even among slaves because he hadn't shared their trauma, he'd experienced his own kind. But Erza didn't care for all that. She was special, accepting. It was all irrelevant to her. All that mattered was that he told her stories and that they could share moments on a rooftop together.
The turning point was when they were roughly fourteen. The odd pair sat that night with their legs dangling over the edge of the roof. It was an overcast grey night, not the picturesque full moon one would hope for. But if being slaves had taught them anything, it was that they should cherish anything, even if it was near-perfect.
"What if-" Jellal started. They always had these. 'What if the moon chose us to live on it', 'what if we turned into birds and never left the sky', 'what if we were actually long-lost royalty'. Erza sometimes joined in, but she was not the most imaginative of girls. Her virtue lay into her down-to-earth nature. So Jellal finished the sentence. "-an angel swooped down and took us to paradise!"
He was surprised to see Erza shake her head, and asked why not.
Erza shrugged, tucking her short scarlet locks behind her ear. "I don't think I would trust an angel that's taken this long to come."
It was at that point that Jellal decided: he would save her and be her knight in shining armour.
"Not bad, Natsu," Juvia said in mild surprise as he blocked her blow with his forearm. "As Juvia predicted- you finally learned to block rather than just evade."
Her pupil grinned at her. "After yesterday, I've gotta up my game, y'know?"
His maid took a step back, brushing down her skirt. "Juvia believes that is all the sparring we need for today."
When Natsu turned to leave, she stopped him. He turned and Juvia, having finally salvaged whatever from her apron, held two things out to him.
Natsu snatched them before inspecting the two metal objects. "Knuckledusters?"
Juvia nodded. "If yesterday is anything to go by, you must be able to defend yourself at least at a basic level. Juvia believes that those simple weapons would be of great use to you."
The pink haired prince seemed unable to speak for a minute. Slowly, cautiously, he put on his new gifts, flexing his fingers experimentally before breaking out into his trademark toothy grin.
"I'm all fired up!"
AN: Uh. Why does my mind refuse to let me write for weeks, then force me to stay up ridiculously late writing? It's not fair!
This chapter is dedicated to the procrastination station that is Tumblr.
As has become routine, hugs and kisses and rainbows and prancing unicorns go to Secret Agent Codename Bob for beta-ing.
Au revoir!
~Meg
EDIT: It seems that I got Jellal's eye color wrong. Oops. I was writing at 1 am, I apologize.
