A/N: Wow, sorry for the wait. As I said before, I'm still quite busy with everything going on in my life, but I'm still here, and I will continue to use every free chance I have to continue updating. Thanks for being so patient with me.
This chapter is a bit short, and it's more like a planning chapter for the upcoming chapters. It may be a bit boring, but it's all set up for what's next.
Chapter seven: The Horror Within
Jellal always thought luck was on his side, even in the most dire situations. When he had plunged recklessly into the gorge, he'd been quite sure that he'd never make it back alive. But somehow, he survived, even when he'd been sure that death was iminent. He liked his luck, and he'd been awfully certain that luck would always be with him.
But this was simply betrayal.
Of course, Jellal knew that luck couldn't betray anyone, since it wasn't even an actual thing. However, he couldn't help but feel as if fate was laughing at him. This time, luck had screwed him over. He had finally pulled the short straw, and nothing could help him now.
The guard dragged him roughly down the corridor, bruising his arms. Jellal winced as the man wrenched his arms brutally behind his back, bruising his arms. He dropped his head, glaring at the man under his bangs, but not uttering a word. He suffered through the pain quietly, gritting his teeth and longing for a weapon, any weapon, that could possibly aid in his escape.
But none came, and Jellal came to the conclusion that nothing could help him. The vast realization hit him hard when the guard pulled him towards an ornate wooden door, with a giant bar across the front. The guard held Jellal with one arm, while with the other, pulled the bar away from the door.
This is my fate, Jellal thought, resigned. I will never again return home to Fiore. I will never submit to Minerva, and for that, she will kill me.
Jellal almost wanted to laugh at the irony. Here he was, given this "new" life. He could spend the rest of his days as a favored one of a noble, head of an empire. Pergrande would destroy Minstrel, Fiore, and every other country that defied them. And Jellal would be holed up inside the castle, safe and protected.
Except for the fact that he refused to become a plaything for the rest of his days. Jellal has spent his life fighting for his freedom, his country's freedom, and he would continue to fight to his last. He wasn't a coward, and he wasn't afraid of death. His audacious dash into the gorge was a perfect example.
The guard shoved him into the dark room that lay beyond the door. With a sarcastic, "sleep tight," the guard slammed the door with a mighty crash. Jellal heard the sound of the bar being bolted back into place, and then silence. The darkness was suddenly overwhelming, and he began to stumble blindly around, looking for a light.
He smashed his knee into something hard and pointed. With a muffled curse, he shuffled around, feeling the object he hit. It seemed to be the corner of a desk, which made him hopeful. He felt around a bit more, and triumphantly, flicked on a light.
The sudden brightness illuminated the room, blinding Jellal. He blinked a few times, letting his eyes become adjusted to the light, before taking a look around at his new "home."
At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was a desk and a chair next to him, a bed, and a closet. There were no windows, which meant that his room was situated in the interior of the castle, instead of being placed next to an outer wall. Nothing covered the bare stone walls, and a simple mat the color of pine trees lay on the floor.
However, Jellal noticed something odd about his room. The desk, the bed, and the chair were all bolted down to the floor with heavy iron bolts, securing them firmly to the ground. He walked next to his wardrobe and found the giant wooden armoire secured to the wall with the same iron bolts. The only light came from the small lamp on his desk; there were no light fixtures attached to the walls. This puzzled Jellal for a moment, and then he understood.
They didn't want him turning anything in here into a weapon. Also, in case he was really desperate, they didn't put anything on the walls incase he tried to kill himself. It was such a well thought out plan, Jellal wanted to punch himself for not thinking about this sooner. Now, he was really screwed.
Did his luck really have to run out now?
He flopped onto his bed, heaving a giant sigh. There was simply nothing to do but wait. His mind was clouded over with nothing but his ill fate.
He closed his eyes. An image appeared before him, that of a woman with long black hair and bold red eyes. She was wearing the last outfit he saw her in: a black dress and a green military jacket. She wore it to his induction into the Reserves, right before her first tour of the seas. He could see her now clearly, hands on her hips, a smirk on her face.
"What's wrong?" He could practically hear her words in his head, strong and vibrant.
"I don't know," he whispered out loud, hands clenching the bedsheets. "I don't know what to do."
"Nothing's going to help you just by sitting there feeling sorry for yourself. Get up, Jellal."
"How?" he whispered. With his eyes still firmly closed, he reached up towards the ceiling, as if reaching towards her. She was there right before him, but if he opened his eyes, the vision would vanish. And he didn't want that.
"Get up Jellal," She commanded, turning around and walking away. "Get up and get to work."
"Wait, Ultear!" He cried, sitting up and opening his eyes. He was met with the bare walls of his prison. They stared back at him, reminding him of his imprisonment.
"Don't leave me," he whispered.
But she was gone, leaving nothing but her words.
It was probably the third day of doing nothing that Jellal began to understand what Ultear's words were.
He'd been doing nothing but laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Every day he was given breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all at the exact time every day. In each of these periods, a guard stayed stationed besides the door, which remained closed and locked. The key to the door hung on this guard's belt.
And so, Jellal began to formulate his plan.
On the third day, he was in the same situation as the others: laying on his bed, kicking his feet, counting the number of notches he saw in the wooden planks of the ceiling. He heard the sudden jingle of keys in the door, the sound of the iron bar being pulled away from it's horizontal position.
He sat up, eyes narrowed as the guard entered, carrying a tray. The guard refused to look at him, setting the tray down on the desk and retreating by the door. "Breakfast," the guard muttered, leaning against the wall and setting his hand on the pommel of his sword. Jellal eyed the gun holster shoved into the back of his pants and wordlessly got up.
He sat down in the chair, strategically turning his body so he could face the other man. He shot a quick glance down at his food, which consisted of bread, cheese, and a suspicious piece of food that looked something like meat. He turned his nose up at it and grabbed the bread.
The guard was a young man, probably middle twenties. He had startling turquoise eyes, and a spiky frock of black hair that hung over his forehead. A scar ran down the left side of his face, and was criss crossed by two others, one just below his eye, the other running through his eyebrow. On his ear hung an earing with a simple pendant.
"What's your name?" he asked the man, tearing a piece of bread and chewing hungrily. He eyed the guard, noticing the way his shoulders tensed upon being talked to. Jellal made a mental note to keep that in mind.
The guard shot Jellal a suspicious glare, as if the bluenette was trying to be deceitful. Jellal raised his hands, eyes wide with innocence. "Listen, I'm just trying to be civil," Jellal said, making his voice sound soothing and calm. "I've been holed up in here for three days. One more day of this endless silence and I'll rip my hair out."
The guard relaxed his stance. His eyes softened, but he refused to keep his hands off his sword, sending a silent message towards Jellal: Any funny business, and I'll cut you in two. Jellal put an easy smile on his face to placate the guard, and the man finally smiled back.
"The name's Doranbolt," he said.
"Jellal," Jellal replied.
The air took on a sudden stillness as they lapsed into an awkward silence. The man, Doranbolt, eyed Jellal warily, his hand still attached to his sword. Jellal looked at him.
"I'm not going to attack you, you know," he said dryly. "So it's okay to relax."
Doranbolt frowned. "Lady Minerva said to keep an eye on you," he muttered. "She said you may try to told me to tell her if you tried anything." There was something, like a hesitation in his voice, that alerted Jellal. It was almost as if he didn't want to believe his own words.
Something clicked in Jellal's mind. This was his chance.
"Don't get me wrong," Jellal interjected, leaning back in his seat, his food untouched. "I'd love to get out of this hellhole. Did you expect anything else? I've been a prisoner here for two years. Two long, painful years. And do you want to know what I just learned?" Before Doranbolt could answer, Jellal cut him off, continuing his tirade.
"I just learned that my home country, Fiore, has just been destroyed, and that my mother and sister are probably dead right now. Dead. And I wasn't able to be there for them, because I'm currently being held against my will by a psychotic woman who wants to use me for her personal needs. So when the "Lady Minerva""- he said this with as much sarcasm as he could muster- "says that I may try to escape, she's wrong. I don't want to "try" and escape, but I will escape. This is a promise."
Doranbolt flinched at Jellal's declaration. Jellal looked at him closely. This was it. Either Doranbolt was going to report this immediately to Minerva, or he'd remain where he was, which meant that Jellal was right.
See, Jellal knew the inner workings of nobles and their workers. Blue bloods treated their employees unfairly. Most of the workers take this cruel treatment and keep their mouths shut, but there are some who don't.
They rebel, and it looked to Jellal that this Doranbolt fellow seemed like that very type.
Doranbolt looked at Jellal. There was a sudden longing in his eyes, as if he wanted to escape with Jellal, and get out of Pergrande. His hand suddenly slackened on his sword, and he slumped against the wall.
"My family was killed by a Minstrel patrol," Doranbolt whispered, sliding down to the floor, where his armor clanked softly upon hitting the stone. "We were from Joya, which has probably been wiped off the map by now. My whole town was destroyed, but I survived, along with my friend, Lahar.
"We were so angry with Minstrel for destroying our lives, we decided to travel to Pergrande and pledge our loyalty to their cause," Doranbolt continued while Jellal listened, quiet and attentive. The man's voice suddenly faltered, and there was a look of utter despair in his eyes.
Jellal leaned forward. "What happened?" he whispered, alreading knowing that something dreadful had occurred in Doranbolt's time in Pergrande. The only question was what.
Doranbolt took a shaky breath. Then, in a voice so quiet Jellal had to lean in close to understand, he whispered, "Minerva killed him."
Jellal frowned. "Killed?" he echoed. "Killed who?"
Doranbolt closed his eyes, and as Jellal watched, a tear welled up from under his left eye and ran down his face, a glittering drop that looked like glass as it fell from his cheek to land on the cold stone. Doranbolt opened his eyes, and quietly wiped his face. When he looked back up, there was a hard glint in his eyes that wasn't there before.
"Minerva did the same thing to Lahar as she's doing to you," Doranbolt hissed. "Only, her patience wore thin and she killed him after he refused her. And that's going to be your fate unless you submit to her."
Jellal stood up abruptly. Was he wrong? Was Doranbolt really just one of those who accepted the cruelty of the nobles?
"I'm never going to submit-" he began harshly, but then Doranbolt stood and interrupted him.
"Or," said the scarred man, giving a tiny grin. "You can escape and fight."
It was dusk, and Doranbolt had left Jellal alone with his own thoughts. The blue haired man lay on his bed, arms above his head, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
The Pergrande Dynasty, which started with King Jiemma, centuries ago, was always deceitful and cunning. Through the years, Pergrande has gotten away with many crimes because it's leaders were evil and corrupt.
King Ivan and his children, Minerva and Rufus, were as corrupt as it could get. They were the ones who started the war with Minstrel. They were the ones who destroyed Fiore and Joya, and they were the ones who were willing to hurt others to get their way.
They weren't just corrupt. They were vile, malicious, disgusting, and rotten to the core. They were the horror within Pergrande. The country itself may not be evil, but they certainly were.
Jellal gritted his teeth. There was nothing that could make him give in to Minerva's wills. He would get out of the castle, with the help of Doranbolt.
Now that he had secured Doranbolt's loyalties, he could get messages to Gray. Together, from the inside, they could possibly create some damage that could weaken Pergrande.
Together, they could destroy the country that destroyed everything.
But there was another thing on Jellal's mind, something that seemed just as important as his freedom, maybe even more so. It was Erza.
He had to save her as well.
Gray stood in a dark room, ornately furnished with elaborate furniture and decorative wall coverings. The only light that illuminated the room came from under the door of an adjacent room, from which running water could be heard. Other than that, the room was dark and silent.
Gray looked out the window, where dark storm clouds lingered on the horizon. He fingered the necklace that Erza had given him.
She was his key to finding Jellal and getting him out of this hellhole. But yet, Gray couldn't find the heart to leave her behind. He wanted to save her too, not just Jellal.
But his orders were to bring Jellal, and Jellal only, back home. Rogue insisted on it.
Gray frowned. He had a strong sense of justice, and was willing to do whatever was right, even If it means breaking rules. So if risking the mission to help save one more person was it, then Gray would do it.
The sound of a door opening made him turn around. Facing him was a slim, pink haired young man, who was dressed in a pair of trousers and a loose cotton shirt. The white fabric clung to the man's muscular frame, since his skin was still a bit damp. His hair, which was wet, dripped down his neck.
The pink haired man frowned upon seeing Gray. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a rough voice, taking a towel and rubbing his hair. "Any news?"
"I haven't found his new location yet," Gray answered. "You?"
The man shrugged. "Well, the nobles still think I'm Ambassador Zancrow," he said. "I'm supposed to meet with the Prince tomorrow, for a war council meeting. I'll see if I can get any info tomorrow."
Gray nodded. "Good. Maybe we can find something that'll give us an edge against Pergrande."
At his words, the thunderclouds on the horizon gave a mighty clap, like the sound of a thousand drums ringing out. Following the thunder came a flash of lighting, briefly illuminating the room with it's brilliant light.
"Ominous tidings," the pink haired man murmured. He grinned. "Maybe that brings good news of Pergrande's downfall, eh, Gray?"
Gray chuckled. "Always the optimist, Natsu."
Natsu grinned. "This country's reign of terror has come to an end. It's time for Fiore to rise out of the ashes and destroy Pergrande."
Another clap of thunder resonated through the building, and a sense of doom blanketed the castle.
A/N: And I leave you on that note. Hope it leaves you on the edges of your seats. R&R, please?
-Wolf
P.S. does anyone else think Lyon got super hot in the recent chapters (420s roughly)
