The King had spent his life fighting. Trained as a soldier and head of the city guard he was an active fighter. It showed. The man was fast and beyond vicious with a blade. Enemies ran from them. And the ones that didn't soon wished they had. A fire mage surprised them at one of the larger junctions but the King took the lead, blocking the flames of their attack on his armour, the flames rippling off like water, opening a window for the Laxus who sent so much current through the man the sockets of his eyes were left smoking; his corpse twitching where it fell.
By the time they reached the command decks it had become hard to tell what blood was theirs. They were covered in so much of it, five floating corpses trailing them, an air of malevolence more befitting of the villain they were hunting than respectable mages following them.
They weren't on their own in this fight, either. There was evidence of the others that had boarded the ship; shouts and clashing steel in the distance, reminding them they weren't alone. They would take this airship. There was suddenly no doubt in anyone's minds about that.
Still only semi conscious, Pappa carried Alma while Bickslow wielded Alma's swords with an imprecise brutality Laxus and his brother had never seen from him. He was normally a clean fighter, preferring long range, bloodless combat, but it was clear he'd learned something from her as a number of mages ended up at the end of those blades. There was now no more humour in Bickslow's eyes.
Vander helped a still bleeding Jera walk; the wound in her leg was ugly and vulgar; a hideous looking tear that bled profusely. With a tourniquet and some gauze they stemmed the flow, but she could barely stand on it, the damage to the muscle wasn't going to be easy to heal if it was even possible to fully heal at all. There was a likelihood she might walk with a limp for the rest of her life.
"How're you holding up?" Vander asked her; a quiet, rhetorical question that any fool would have been able to answer him, but Jera was getting weaker, and even though he was helping her walk, he wasn't unscathed, either. Bruised and battered, the pair of them were a sight, hobbling along.
She laughed lithely at him.
"You seem to be the one doing all the holding up, you tell me?" She cracked a toothy smile that firmly reminded him of his last conversation with his father, and the warmth he felt at the look turned to sheer terror...he really did have feelings for her. His home was the other side of the world, almost, and hers was here in a place he honestly wasn't terribly fond of at the minute. That just wasn't going to work out.
"You'll be fine," He whispered, disheartened by the realization that anything he might possibly start with her, was all but doomed to fall apart from the beginning.
She sensed the shift in his mood.
"You know, I'm the one with the hole in my leg, so what's with the frown?" Her directness made his heart just ache. She was so perfect for him he felt like an idiot for not admitting it. Most broke under hours of Seith control; his brother was careful not to harm those he took possession of, Vander doubted Arlo was so considerate. Jera Ferod had spent days like that. Been made murder her own father...and who knew what else. But here she was, still fighting, joking, teasing him. Laughing. Vander couldn't understand why the sound of her laugh tied him up in knots, but it did.
"I shouldn't have had sex with you..." He responded with a murmur.
"Why not?" She seemed hesitant to know the answer. Expecting rejection.
"If we live through this...I'll be going back home," He looked to the side, away from her. "That might be a little difficult now."
It dawned on her that he wouldn't be staying, couldn't stay, followed by the cold slap to the face when she landed on the realization that of course he couldn't stay. He had a home and a job and a family...and none of those were in Atla. She could have gone with him, could have left, but that was now complicated.
"I-I'd go...go back with you...but the King offered me command of the city," Vander's head snapped back to her. Wide eyed. She would be the first woman in Atlan history to have the role. The first individual not to have suffered the trials either.
"I fucking hope you said yes!" He rasped. It would quite literally make her the most powerful woman in the Kingdom.
"Course I did!" She laughed. "I'd be an idiot not to...it's a pretty big deal," She was smiling. "There's a lot of anger and resentment towards the palace for letting this happen and he thinks giving me the position will show people he intends for things to change, abolish slavery, appoint a woman to a position of power... I was also a member of that failed rebellion after all. He thinks that should soothe the still rebellious masses," She chuckled.
"You're also not a soldier," He was grinning, happy for her, but there was an ambiguous mix of emotions that left him rankled and confused. "And really young..." He added, trying to conceal any traces of negativity with a smirk.
"All true!" Her expression fell. "I like you...and the one good thing about running the city is the ability to bend the rules...you'll always be welcome here, even if he decides to eject the Embassy," She reached up and over, only to peck him on the cheek. A stupid, chaste little thing that left his cheeks and ears burning like red iron.
Vander looked away to hide the somewhat embarrassing blush and spotted a marker on the wall.
"Hey! Command deck is this way!" He pointed to a stairwell.
"Oh...stairs? Great," Jera whined before Vander picked her up over his shoulder. Hand lingering on her behind just a little longer, a little firmer than necessary. A wolfish grin tugging at his mouth. "Hey!"
He muttered to himself happily in Boscan at her exclamation knowing she didn't speak the language, but he felt someone flick him in the back of his head and he turned to find Bickslow glaring unamusedly at him; the five corpses of the damned floating behind the Seith. Vander didn't waver often, but that the sight was downright nightmare inducing.
"I don't need to hear that, Van!" Bickslow protested.
Vander got a swift knee in the ribs from the woman on his shoulder.
"What did I say?" He complained.
"I have no idea, but I'm assuming it has something to do with my ass," Jera griped and Vander paused on the stairs, mid step.
"How'd you figure?"
"Lucky guess!" She said evasively.
Laxus and the King pushed passed them, quickly catching up and Jera winced with the look of amusement the King threw her as he passed. Now it was her time to turn red faced.
The command deck was completely dark and so silent that for just a moment it seemed like it might be empty, and their entire assault pointless; nothing more than a wild goose chase. But they saw it, outside the ship, through the glass. A dozen Boscan airships blockading the city out of sight of the palace grounds but close enough to be spotted from the bridge of the Sky Nymph. That was why Arlo lingered to set up the shielding on the ship, because as fast as this beast was, it wasn't getting through that unscathed. Arman had of course sent word back to Bosco once he realized that Arlo Basta had a hand in this. And the Royal armada had been despatched accordingly. Now whether that was to kill him because he was a criminal, or silence him before he aired any dirty secrets was another thing entirely.
The lights in the room suddenly flickered on as main power returned and everyone, even the King froze. The bridge was filled with men and woman in dirty and stained Boscan air force uniforms, each one of them holding a knife to their own throats. Some of them had looks of fear in their eyes, some seemed unaware of what they were doing.
"Move and they will kill themselves," A shaky voice rasped from the shadows.
Arlo Basta looked like he'd seen better days. He was haggard and feverish, his arm wrapped in a stained dressing. The smell of infection was enough to make Laxus want to vomit. It didn't look like he was going to live very long regardless of their interference. In his good hand he held a lacrima, drawing from their example and using it to boost his own power. But he didn't have the same support Bickslow did with Alma and the babies. There to control the flow of power and negate the dangerous feedback.
The older Seith's eyes were wild when they fell on Alma.
"Wake her up!" He demanded.
"She's unconscious, you moron, how do you suppose we do that?" Laxus sneered.
Baros was completely silent, glaring at Arlo. No one quite knew if he cared enough about the Boscan personnel to stay his hand for longer than it took for him to think of the best way of killing Basta, but regardless of the reasons, he waited.
"He can!" Arlo nodded to Bickslow. "My old friend should be able to feed her just enough power for her to heal herself..." He looked down to his hand. "...then she can heal this," He sneered. "No fire breathing fool this time?" Arlo asked.
Laxus raised his fist and let lightning crackle between his fingers.
"No, he's down below, ironically burning down the fire temple," Laxus grinned despite the situation. That...was rather funny when he thought about it.
"Very amusing!" Arlo remarked humourlessly before his eyes caught on Jera, who was now back on her feet at Vander's side. "My dear girl. Your leg? And here I was hoping you'd dance for me again," He said and Vander felt Jera shiver in his grip.
Her face morphed into one of rage. Her mother had thought her to dance. And Alma had thought her to use that to defend herself. Utilize speed and grace to outmaneuver opponents instead of clashing with brute force like her father had tried to teach her. It made her sick for something that filled her with so much pride and fond memory to be used to demean her.
"I'll dance on your grave!" She said, serious and sombre.
Arlo was visibly conflicted about what to feel over the remark. The woman seemed unbreakable despite his best efforts but he seemed to loath having to give up on the idea. He looked back to Bickslow frowning.
"Do it, or every drop of blood that spills in this room with be on your head...I won't live long enough to see your so called retribution," The man snarled. It was clear to see the desperation now colouring his eyes.
Bickslow sucked in a breath and turned to Pappa with his hands outstretched. But the corpse never moved to relinquish her, clutching her tighter it seemed.
"I won't let anything happen to them! I promise!" He could have ordered the soul to do what he said, but he couldn't find it in his heart to do that. Pappa had grown to understand what it meant to genuinely care about people. The worry all his babies felt for them was justified. He needed Pappa to accept this.
Alma's form was finally passed over into his waiting arms and Bickslow found Arlo smiling at him.
"Them? Could my protégé really have made a child with this thing? Don't tell me you were so stupid?" Arlo mocked him. "I told you before boy, it may look and talk and fuck like a person...but in there's really no difference between that thing in your arms and the creature you slew under the palace," Arlo laughed hatefully at him. "Utterly revolting!"
Bickslow felt a white hot rage bubble in his stomach; the bile hitting his throat made him want to vomit. He looked down at Alma and hummed a steady unwavering note. Feeding her magic directly rather than through the souls they were both now permanently linked to.
Slowly, the wound on her head closed up completely and he heard the bone in her arm crunch as it realigned, knitting back together.
"Ali? Time to wake up," Bickow couldn't completely wash the edge out of his voice and the hate in his tone roused her quickly. One of her arms slid around his neck as she stared up into his eyes almost confused to see his there looking at her.
"I was dead?" She rasped.
"No...just sleeping while prince charming came to your rescue," Bickslow teased her.
"I'm no princess," She muttered. Eyes straining to remain open. It was so tempting to sleep again. Even Bickslow felt the pull now.
"Enough of the chatter...now heal me!" Arlo interrupted, growling.
Bickslow lowered Alma to her unsteady feet as she took in the scene around them. Her eyes examining every face. Every single one. Arms encircled her from behind and she breathed a sigh; one of Bickslow's hands tracing over her abdomen. She understood what was happening.
"No," She deadpanned. "Go ahead, make them kill themselves. I'd be shocked if you could force a single one to do so much as curtsey. I can see your hold over them, and its paper! There's just too many," She spat.
King Baros smiled a terrifying kind of smile and took a step forward, sword raised. They saw the blades the crew members held waver, but no one actually made a move to kill themselves. It was one of the hardest things a Seith could do, used normally as way to prove power, forcing someone to end their own life. In this case, Arlo didn't have the strength left for it. Not even for a single one.
The man pulled out a dagger and held it out towards the King who tipped his head back and bellowed with laughter.
"Are you actually pointing that cheap toy at me as if it were an actual weapon?" Baros mocked him. They gave blades that size to children as name day gifts.
The King moved quickly and struck the blade out of Arlo's fist with the pummel of his sword. The Seith in no position to be a threat found himself on his knees, the edge of the Kings sword at his throat.
"If you're going to kill me, then kill me already!" Arlo growled.
"I am, but not here...and not now. The Atlan people..." The King smiled, unsure he was even thinking this himself. "...the Boscan people as well, I think, they need to see you die. Slowly, painfully," Baros stared at Arlo's injury before glancing back to Alma.
"Heal him just enough so he lives to see his execution and I will make sure your requests are granted. All of them," The King promised.
Alma made to move but Bickslow held her for a moment. "Don't. He's still a Seith mage," He warned her but he knew she'd go ahead regardless of what he said. She peeked up at him, determined. "Fine...but be careful," He breathed instead of arguing further.
The King kept Arlo on his knees while she stood in front of him. Stretching out her hand, hesitating while her fingers hovered just an inch from the skin on his head. She couldn't do this without actual contact and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much that unsettled her.
The instant her fingers touched skin, Arlo's good hand shot up and latched onto her wrist, his eyes locking with hers and flaring brightly. The sword that the King swung at his head, barely a moment later, Alma blocked before kicking out, catching the King square in the breastplate and sending him sailing off his feet.
Bickslow felt Arlo, a distant, almost omniscient presence in his mind now. The man's last slivers of power having hooked themselves into Alma's soul. Pulling at her. Healing involved opening herself up and either she'd underestimated what power he had left, or overestimated her own, either way he'd taken advantage of the moment and seized control from her. The floating corpses behind him dropped limply to the ground. His babies having been ordered to vacate. Arlo worming his way through the link they all shared. Like a parasite.
"I take some of what I said back, she's much more than that beast," The remaining crew all pointed their blades at them now, turning in formation, moving to surround them as Arlo received a power boost. Bickslow jerked forward reaching for Alma but Arlo stopped him.
"If any of you take so much more as a step, I'll pull her soul out and throw the remaining carcass over the edge of the ship for the sand cats and wild boro below us.
"WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT?" Bickslow roared. "What are you after, here? Revenge? For what? I'd say you're pretty fucking even. You want me? Is that it? You want your student back? Fine, I'll go with you. Willingly..." He felt her scream and thrash inside at those words. He kept his composure. "What do you want?"
Arlo flinched. Uncertainty in his eyes. It had changed much over the years. He'd wanted his own guild. Wanted power and to be revered. Freedom and revenge. Retribution. Now he wanted total destruction. Wanted to see those he viewed as his oppressors, crushed. Wanted them to suffer. But still, he knew what Bickslow was asking and it wasn't what he wanted in general, it was what he wanted from him. And that Arlo wasn't entirely sure of himself.
While his thoughts drifted there was suddenly the sound of singing, the crew had lowered their weapons and instead of facing Laxus and the others, they were all staring back at him. Time stilled as more and more of them started joining in on the song while he stood there awestruck. He checked, they were still under his power. Eyes still glazed over. Unseeing and unaware. He glared at Bickslow for answers but the man had none to offer him. The song suddenly stopped.
At Arlo's side stood the first lieutenant of the ship, a somewhat portly, older woman with a sweet face, and in the silence that fell she turned to the others and spoke, with a voice warped by something dark. Something that sounded altogether too much like the hag from the palace.
"He wanted a family..." She said to them. "...just wanted to be loved."
The Boscan woman turned and slashed at his face with the knife still clutched in her hands, the blade ran in a clean, precise line across his eyes. As he screamed, the people trapped by his magic fell unconscious to the ground while he screeched, pressing the palms of his hands in where the ruined orbs once rested. The King cracked the sword across the mage's face, knocking him out cold and silencing the sound of his agony filled screams.
Bickslow caught Alma before she hit the ground. She was awake but weak.
"That was some pretty underhanded fucking shit you just pulled," He said nuzzling her hair. Arlo had thought he could possess her soul...but all he'd done was give her access to the others.
"Well...I'm sneaky," She said with a groan. "I need to sleep for a week," She cracked on eye open to look up at him. "Tell me I can sleep now?"
"Yeah!" He chuckled. "And I think I'll be joining you," He was serious. A week straight in a bed sounded just that side of absolutely wonderful. He was utterly exhausted. "You mind telling me what request was worth that kind of risk?"
"I thought it was customary to exchange gifts," She said, sleepily.
"Are you crazy? There's month's till Christmas!" He breathed with a grin.
"Not Christmas...wedding!"
Bickslow's heart skipped a beat. An old Boscan tradition was a gift exchange at the wedding; the brides and grooms gave each other something at the reception, a symbol of their future marriage.
"You said yes?" He stilled, quiet as the blood rushed to his head. It sounded like a question because he'd honestly forgotten for a moment. And subsequently convinced himself it wasn't a real yes in the many moments before and after. The wave of chaos had crashed down on them, broken, but here they all were, alive and the tide had fallen back out to sea.
She reached up to him and traced the brand across his brow. He'd almost forgotten about it, about trying to hide it. The concealer he'd been using he'd long run out of.
"What kind of gift needs a King to help organize?" He found himself asking, stunned stupid.
"It's a surprise," She murmured before closing her eyes.
Bickslow laughed.
"So, anyone know how to land this thing?" Laxus said, staring blankly at a wall of controls. "Or do we have to wait for people to start waking up?"
Vander shrugged.
"Depends on how fast you want to reach the ground.
There was no celebration on the streets when it came time to officially crown Atla's new King. The day was marked with funeral pyres, burials. The affair itself was sober and quick. The city was a ruin. A bloody ruin. But it wasn't all lost. Natsu had found hundreds in the fire temple, many having had the same idea and fleeing there for shelter...even more miraculously, underneath Josta had been left one of the rebellions moving fortresses. While the heads of Atla's resistance had been betrayed and killed, not everyone with influence or knowledge had perished with them. Mages had taken hundreds more underground with whatever they could carry...but in a city that once held millions, out of the hundred or so thousand that had chosen to remain, there were now approximately fifteen thousand still living in the city, though as news of Josta's freedom spread more were gradually returning.
Baros was crowned wearing mourning black. No jewels. No rings on his fingers.
The King of Bosco sent aid. Ships upon ships. An entire country humiliated and embarrassed and shamed, their dirtiest of laundry aired for every country to see. News spread like wildfire. The King had ordered a sanctioned cull of the Boscan government. Knights dragged men out of their beds in the middle of the night, only for them to disappear into the darkness. Names forgotten. They could do nothing less. Because in the wake of their dark dealings in Atla, other allies had questioned their respective arrangements. They needed a show of resolve...and Bosco gave that to them. It's response was brutal and swift.
An airship the likes of which none of them had ever seen arrived. The Boscan vessel carrying it's own King; a private audience with the newly crowned King Baros of Atla that lasted three whole days.
None of which Bickslow was awake to witness. He slept. Like the dead. Wrapped in warmth and calm and a dreamless sleep were once nightmares plagued him.
When he did wake again it was curled around a familiar body...and nearly two whole weeks had passed. She was still sleeping and he found himself tracing her stomach. He didn't know what he expected. He'd known women who'd gone nearly five months with their first child before a passerby would think to assume they were pregnant. It would be even longer before it would have something close to a soul that he would see.
This was his future. Pressed close to his chest.
"Ughhhh," A groan sounded. Alma twisting in his arms to face him. "They put me in a dress again..." She whined.
"Stop passing out and the attendants won't need to dress you," He smiled before laughing into her hair, leaving a kiss against her forehead. "There are benefits to these hateful dresses you know, though," The devious glint in his eyes made her shake her head.
"I need food...and to brush my teeth...and a bath," She exclaimed.
He kissed her behind the ear.
"I like baths!"
"Food first..." It was only now she was looking around. "We aren't in the Embassy?"
Bickslow glanced at the furniture. White marble walls, gold filigree on intricate decorations.
"I think this is the palace," He affirmed with a grin, vividly remembering the last time they were here. Bickslow's stomach growled angrily. "Food then," He laughed, sitting up, but when he went to climb out of the bed his legs gave way, sending him sprawling to the floor. Alma laughed raucously at him.
"I think we've been asleep for a while," He said from the floor chuckling.
When they made it up they found bowls of fresh fruit waiting for them. New clothes hanging up on hangers. They awoke to a different Atla outside. Gone was the stench of blood and death. The oppressive feel of claustrophobic terror. The air was clean and they could see people in the market from their window.
Bickslow filled a bowl with berries and sat on the bed savouring what tasted like the best thing he'd ever eaten. Alma sat watching him, frowning.
"What?" He found himself saying as she eyes the contents of the bowl in his lap.
"I...have cravings..." One of his eyebrows rose. "Food...cravings," She bit out.
Bickslow grinned offering her his bowl and watched with narrowed eyes as she quickly popped a raspberry into her mouth and looked away sheepishly. Knowing full well how she despised the overly sweet taste and yet presently could think of nothing else.
He laughed, tackling her to the bed. "Oh, this one's mine alright," She twisted under him, locking his arms with her but he kept his balance on his knees and slipped free, pinning her hands by her head.
"You've gotten better," She breathed.
"No..." He leaned down to breathe in her ear, "...you've gone soft, sweetpea," Bickslows voice came out huskily. She laughed in his face before pushing him off her with a grunt and pinning him on his back with a smug look.
"Not likely!" She poked him in the chest. "You have improved! You're stronger now."
Bickslow couldn't tell if that was accurate; he didn't feel any stronger. Didn't feel like much had changed at all in that department. Not to say nothing had changed.
"Have you...?" He fumbled his courage to finish the question and left it hanging there like a noose waiting to strangle him.
She frowned.
"Thought about how many people are going to die during the length of this pregnancy and if I'll be able to get away with it?" Her tone was serious. "I gave it some thought," She said with a shrug.
"You...want to have...I'm going to be a father?" He squeaked.
"If I can avoid pointy things to the guts long enough. I'll ask Erza to adjust my armour. Or chainmail? Always wanted chainmail," Bickslow was still just laying there underneath her staring silently. Trying to process exactly why his heart rate was skyrocketing when what she was saying finally kicked in.
"Why would you need armour? You won't be taking jobs!" He realised only too late that he'd made a statement instead of asking a question.
"So what? I spend the next nine months knitting?" She squared her shoulders, defiant. "When we hit the dangerzone around the seven month mark I'll agree to keep the jobs local... don't plan on going into labour in yet another country I hate," She poked him in the chest. "But you can go fuck yourself if you think me turning into a hermit while you go off having fun is going to happen!"
She sat back on his hips, looking suddenly shaky.
"I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself...that also includes body inhabiting parasites," Her tone less angry and more hurt.
"But its not necessary to put yourself in danger, why...why risk that?"
"You don't have any problem with me going on jobs? Let me assure you, anything bad enough to end this pregnancy would more than likely kill me, too," She glared at him. "So, what? This child is more important than I am?"
"That's not what I'm saying! Gods, why the fuck are you so stubborn?" He dragged a hand through his hair. "I'm just saying...lean on me! I wasn't there for you before...so let me do this. I promise, I won't rely on family handouts, I've got money of my own and...I'll take jobs. Just...consider it? The worry would literally fucking kill me!" He admitted.
"Seven months and then I'll be a good pregnant housewife for the last two," She offered, compromising.
"Four and no dangerous missions, and you don't go alone on jobs," He countered.
"Six...and I'll take someone on the dangerous ones."
"Five! And you take Laxus on the dangerous ones," Bickslow wasn't even sure he was comfortable with that as it was, but it was better than he could hope to expect. His family would probably think this was crazy, having to haggle like this.
Bickslow was just lucky she was willing to at all.
She paused considering his last offer and huffed rather indignantly.
"Agreed! We have a deal," She held out her hand and Bickslow shook it before narrowing his eyes, pulling her off her knees and shifting her under him; elbows resting on either side of her head.
"I want you in a dress for the wedding!" He demanded. Since they were negotiating...
"Why?"
"Asking you to go along with a traditional Boscan wedding would be a stretch, so I figured I'd start small...and you look good in dresses," He smiled.
"And I can pick the dress?" He leaned in and kissed her on the neck.
"You can."
"Any dress?" Instantly the hairs on the back of his neck rose.
She caught his suddenly worried look; knowing she was vindictive enough to make a spectacle of that, but maybe she had gotten soft.
"How about I let you plan the wedding?" Bickslow's eyebrows rose comically high on his face.
"Seriously?"
"My idea of catering consists of a lot of raw meat," She admitted. Undoubtedly Bickslow would like people to witness this and they probably would have tastes other than Atlan red steak. "All that...it sounds like hell to me," her nose wrinkled in disgust.
"We have a deal!" He agreed eagerly. "But you should know I plan to make most bridezillas look tame," He beamed at her, kissing his way up to her jaw.
"You want me to start calling you princess?" Alma mocked, before his lips silenced her. His fingers winding their way through her hair, her palms slipping up to cup his face.
"You can call me whatever you want..." He pulled back smiling. "...Ali!" He purred. "So what was it you were saying about needing a bath before we go looking for people?" Bickslow's fingers traced a path down her side, circling the skin on her thigh, having found himself between them, pressed against the length of her.
"Children aren't easy, you know," The words cooled his less than decent intentions.
"Nothing about any of this has been easy...but...it was worth it. I expect that to be a reoccurring trend," He laughed. Pulling back to sit on his knees, leaving his hands to trace light touches across her still toned stomach. All the inactivity had softened his own physique, but her body was different. Almost like it couldn't forget; it wouldn't weaken.
"You think you'll age normally? Get old?" The concept that she might not had often crossed his mind.
She started laughing hysterically.
"What? You put me on a pedestal that high you think I'm immortal?" She sat up and flicked him in the forehead. "Of course I'm gonna get old. Old and possibly fat..." She admitted that last part quietly to herself with a look of worry. Already she could feel that she would be the perpetually hungry kind of pregnant woman.
"Let's get up and get cleaned and go see what kinda madness has gone on while we were unconscious invalids," Bickslow climbed out of the bed with a groan. Legs aching and stiff.
It took a number of minutes of opening doors to find the bathroom for the suite and they took far longer getting cleaned than even Bickslow would have wagered. He would have liked it to have been for more pleasurable reasons, but it wasn't. Alma had visibly panicked at the edge of the bath. To the degree he'd to help her wash as she sat on the edge of the small pool. Only her feet left to dangle in the warm suds. Water touching her face made her flinch.
But Bickslow was patient and kept her calm, eventually he was even able to lure her in further. Something she did only because he held her close.
There was a man waiting in a chair outside their door. He didn't seem like a guard, judging by the clothes, but he certainly seemed to hold some authority. He stood abruptly and bowed.
"The King wasn't sure when you'd awaken. Please, come with me!" That meant that for the time they'd been sleeping they'd kept constant watch. Tending to their bodies. Swapping out the food in their room so they'd be assured it would be fresh.
The man pulled out a lacrima communicator and engaged in a rushed conversation that fluttered between Boscan and Atlan at a confusing pace; there seemed to be multiple people on the other end of the line.
He seemed to lead them on a tour of the palace. Whispers and stolen glances following them as they were led to a small chamber, not unlike the King's study, where they were asked to wait.
Bickslow felt suddenly nervous. He clearly remembered the last time he was left alone in a room like this with with Alma. But they weren't alone for long as Baros appeared following closely. Clad simply in plain clothes. Still no finery. The only status symbol was the bronze crown sitting on his head. He gestured for them to take a seat.
"Your compatriots are still in the palace, and a few more have joined them from your home guild, if you'd like to see them...but I thought it best to speak to you first while we still have the opportunity for privacy," The King was the picture of composure but smiled a little at the blank looks he received.
"There are a few things we need to talk about. The first is that the Boscan government have agreed to the requests I leveraged," He looked to Alma at that and Bickslow's expression fell.
"What requests?" The Seith turned to look at her and she shrugged. No doubt he'd find out later.
"The other thing I wish to address is perhaps the possibility that you would consider staying. Its already arranged that you have full citizenship, but...this country needs reassurance and knowing that the mages responsible for saving this city reside in it...it would help calm a number of riotous problems we're currently facing," He was cautious with his words.
"My home is in Fiore, with my guild," Bickslow said apologetically, looking to Alma then, for her input.
"And my home is with him," She said with a quiet smile that made Bickslow melt inside. It felt literal. Alma could be sweet. When she stopped being all those other things he sometimes wished she wasn't.
The King sighed and threw up his hands in mocking surrender.
"I'll be forgiven for trying," Baros joked. "You're being hailed as national heroes on the streets...I've even been told there's a small statue of you two that's found its way into the Sand Cat enclosure. Though, my city commander is keeping quiet on how exactly that happened," He murmured not quite impressed with how rebellious Jera happened to be, though she was very good at managing people; settling disputes quietly and with minimum violence. To top it off, she was efficient and conservative with her machinations; a subtle hand even he hadn't wielded when he had the role. Having met her personal idol and tutor, he could certainly see how that had happened.
"...a statue?" Alma was totally silent while Bickslow remarked with an owlish expression. "...as in...stone likeness statue?"
The King didn't bother answering him, already seeing a flicker of ego grow in Bickslow's eyes.
"Your friends and family will be waiting, no doubt some of your daily visitors have already discovered your sudden absence and will be scouring my palace looking for you," He stood and extended a hand to the door, but then changed his mind about dismissing them just yet.
"Arlo Basta is due to be executed in the morning...should you wish to make your peace with him before then," The King's words were softly spoken.
Bickslow nodded before standing and breathed a sigh of relief; it was over. It was really over. His hand had only graced the door handle to the room when the King spoke again.
"And I always did hate that study," King Baros said to their backs and Bickslow wasn't sure he ever moved as fast as he did out of that room.
Out in the corridor Alma took his hand in hers.
"Do you want to face him?" She asked. Partially curious.
Bickslow had spent a lifetime hating the man, but Baros had been right when he'd said that all that misery had helped shape who he was. There was no point in hate, not now, and there was nothing good that could be gotten in speaking with him, either. Arlo would pay for his crimes and that would do.
"Nah..." Bickslow smiled sadly at her. They made it one more corridor before Bickslow was tackled by a cackling Natsu.
"Man, you missed the cook off! The palace chef made a stew so spicy it melted the bottom of the pot. Even I had a tough time eating it!" Natsu grinned pulling Bickslow by the shirt down the hallway. Makarov had come with Erza and Gray to personally find out what was going on and assist in any way he could with the rebuild of the city. Giant magic was actually rather useful in larger scale building work and Erza had organized the rebuilding of the guild so many times she was a logical choice. Gray...well, Gray was there cause neither of them tolerated the heat well.
Bickslow was thrown into the midst of Fairy Tail drama so quickly he barely even noticed Alma leave his side.
She was now quite familiar with the maze of corridors beneath the palace. The dungeons and the cells. It didn't take her long to find Arlo Basta's guarded cell. The guards had been notified that one or both of them might want to see the prisoner before the execution and they opened the door without complaint or a need of an explanation from her.
In the dark Arlo sat, knees pulled up to his chest. His hand she'd partially helped heal but a stained bandage was wrapped around the remnants of his cauterized eyes.
"He won't be coming to see you," Arlo visibly flinched at her words. He'd hoped that wouldn't have been the case. "I think that's for the best. He doesn't need you getting into his head again," She leaned back against the closed door to his cell.
"And why are you here?" Arlo bit out. His mouth dry. They fed him only enough food and water to keep him alive, and not a scrap more. The weeks in the cell had been perpetually filled with unquenchable thirst and insatiable hunger.
"A promise..." She whispered. "You know, I've been were you are now...I've experienced those steel tipped whips," She tapped the skin on her shoulder were a crisscross of scars were etched into her skin. "I know the pain of that and...I'm not sure that's enough...because I swore you'd suffer," She said simply.
"What more do you think you could possibly do to me? What more pain do you think you could inflict that would be of any consequence?" He snarled, defiantly.
"Nothing. I doubt there's a physical pain I could inflict that would be worse than what you've been experiencing...I'm sure the guards aren't gentle..." She smiled despite the fact he wouldn't be able to see it.
"So what do you intend to do?" Arlo wondered aloud. If she wasn't there to hurt him. What exactly did she want?
And then he saw them, the faces of the dead, rising in his mind. He felt their loss as keen as a fresh blade in his chest. Felt crushing guilt and overwhelming remorse. He hadn't cared about them. Didn't care about them. But she was making sure that in the hours before his death he did. The laughter of long dead children he'd sacrificed echoed in his ears, the sounds of Bickslow's lost childhood, the one he'd played a part in stealing, and if Arlo had of had eyes to weep, he would have cried a river in the desert of Atla. As it was she left him dry sobbing; forced to confront the pain of his atrocities. Leaving somewhat startled guards at his door, wondering what the woman could have done in less than two minutes that would have so thoroughly broken him.
When morning broke and Arlo Basta's execution time came, he was silent before the howling onlookers in the market. He didn't beg or try to talk himself out of it as his crimes were read to the masses while his executioner dulled the tip of his steal crowned whip, intending to draw this out as long as possible.
It lasted forty minutes in total before shock and blood loss ended his life, but as he died, between his screams, drawn forth by the lash of those barbaric whips, Arlo wailed the same thing, over and over.
"I deserve this!"
Notes
Woooooo! And we sorta have an ending except for the fact I have a few more follow up chapters and bonus stuff coming. Want to see Bickslow's over the top wedding? Granted. See how well Alma's first meeting with the rest of his family goes? Done.
See Natsu take on the fire temple? Happy to oblige.
I can't thank all the reviewers enough and I want you to know you guys are the best. Desna, kmmcm, bibliophilia13, GlassMoutains, CanaryOfBlack, Weezel474, ShanaDumblond and any I might have missed!