Bickslow's remaining two brothers and final, somewhat elusive sister were unfortunately too busy for random dinners in Magnolia; some, Kaleb in particular, his oldest brother, was in line to run his own guild and his master as a result kept him exceedingly busy. The rest were on jobs, Cris, or travelling the wilds for shits and giggles, Emzadi. What that meant, to Bickslow's horror, was that the wedding, despite his reservations, would be the first time they'd be introduced to their new, by then somewhat heavily pregnant future sister in-law.

And hormones had done nothing for the more insufferable elements of her personality. He loved her, but like him, she was far from perfect. And make a normal person vomit three times a day, urinate ten times a night and get gas just from looking at a hot pepper, and they'd be pretty insufferably miserable too. Their unborn son was a kicker, as well. Bickslow wasn't sure if she was joking when she said she'd invested magic in organ repair. On one hand it sounded like an exaggerations, but for the fact that Alma was stronger than the average three hundred pound man; the possibility that he was going to be born with greater than average strength wasn't out of the realms of reality.

Bickslow in a way felt somewhat unsurprised that Alma was late for her own wedding, despite the fact that she was normally a very punctual person, he'd just had a feeling. Close to the wedding and uncomfortable and restless, she'd taken her last job till after the birth. The short job to the next town to sniff out a double dealing mayor should have been quick for her. She could tell when people lied two rooms over, and was sharp enough to work out why. It should have been quick. But as luck would have it, things had become more complicated than the original request had entailed.

The job had ultimately resulted in a cross country chase that Alma, over six months pregnant now, happily threw herself into despite protests. Loud, vigorous protests. Porlyusica had been present and ripped the communicator out of Bickslow's stunned hands, shaking the lacrima with an enthusiasm they all knew stemmed from the visualization of her neck between the old woman's wirey fingers. In an instant she'd thrown Bickslow's long and arduously planned ceremony up in the air.

Bickslow made the executive decision to send Laxus to help speed things up, because among rehearsals, already she'd missed a dress fitting, all the pre-wedding little dinners and get togethers, and she'd made the admission of not being that familiar even with the location he'd picked.

It...made him nervous. Nervous enough to chase Laxus down as the man was leaving the guild on a job of his own and beg him to go find her.

But now it was the day. The day. He'd been dressed since six am that morning, anxious and excited and more than a little worried. Alma was supposed to have gotten back early that very morning but the horse she was on lost a shoe, and she point blank refused Laxus when he suggested alternative methods of transport. So he crossed his fingers and decided to have a little faith that she'd make it.

Bickslow's older brother Kaleb questioned him relentlessly about the mysterious missing bride and Bickslow kept his answers infuriatingly evasive. Boscan's had a predisposition toward coddling pregnant women. Husbands and partners were generally expected to take care of pretty much everything in the run up to the birth. The family members that hadn't met her yet would chew the ear off him to know he agreed with her taking missions that late in the pregnancy. The ones that had, were still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that he'd negotiated that with her.

Bickslow honestly hadn't expected her to still be working when she could barely hold down food a lot of the time; he didn't like it, even less when he found out she was travelling on horseback, though she assured him she was fine and she'd make sure the baby was, too. Bickslow had come to the conclusion a long time ago that it was pointless in arguing with her once she'd made her mind up on things. Not as if he could do anything about it three hundred miles away.

He did all he could and moved the morning outdoor ceremony to late evening and filled the gaping space between with alcohol and entertainment. There were going to be a lot of drunk guests for the exchange of vows, but it couldn't be helped at that stage.

Laxus arrived just before noon, covered in mud and swearing blind she was on her way. They had time.

Bickslow let himself relax. Sitting in his tux watching them erect the pavilion and set the chairs as people bustled round. Far more than he'd expected. Among the guests that turned up had been none other than the King of Atla himself, accompanied by his new wife and a whole host of Boscan officials he didn't recognise by airship. Fiore had sent soldiers to protect them and provide security; no one wanted to fuck up on the international stage like Bosco had. There were actually so many soldiers that the Atlan King had chose to allow his personal guard to enjoy the festivities.

He was far from helpless and the guest list consisted of some of the most formidable mages spanning several countries. Baros wasn't concerned for his or his Queen's safety. You'd have to be an idiot to go there looking for trouble.

Bickslow noted with no small amusement that royalty suited Marila. Years of taking orders from Bosco's nobility, being commanded about, and she was more than capable, willing, eager, to give it right back to them. Baros stood at her side. Carefully guarding his expressions. There would be no public shows of affection. That was something that undoubtedly wouldn't be changing in Atla any time soon. Though, he stood close to her; smiled a tiny fraction when Marila sneered at an official who greeted her by her first name before publicly rebuking him. It amused the King to see her exercise her new authority and Bickslow could see the affection in him for her. The way his eyes softened when he looked at her. Most people would have thought them distant, but Bickslow saw theatrics in how they held themselves. It was all for show.

Jera travelled with them, looking years older despite it only having been a few months since they'd seen her last. The age old curse of responsibility. She spent the time practically glued to a lacrima communicator with Josta, they updated her every two hours while she was absent. When he spotted her he noted that she was now wearing her hair braided as Alma had before she'd frustratedly taken a scissors to it, a new nose ring and dressed in a formal suit decorated in bronze and golden chains. A symbol of her new position of authority. She still walked with a minor limp but the old injury would undoubtedly take a great deal of time to fully heal. Bickslow could see Vander hovering nearby. His soul in a veritable tizzy over her which made him laugh a little. The man seemed to almost stalk her around the wedding, even using the shadows as she moved from area to area. He'd have to sit him down and have a talk with him, because if he wanted her to notice him, doing that was the wrong way to go about it. Vander wasn't entirely in touch with the feelings torturing him and was dealing with it in the creepy way rather than the healthy way. At least hadn't run off.

"Your Grace," Bickslow bowed to the King and turned bowing to his new Boscan born Queen. "Your Grace!" He smiled. Maybe the Boscan government expected that the King of Atla making a Boscan native his Queen would have given them some sort of foot hold or stable starting point, but Marila had resided in Atla for just as long as Bosco and her original commission hadn't necessarily been by choice. There were very few Boscan's that willingly chose jobs in Atla. Not if they could avoid it.

Marila as it stood seemed to take cruel pleasure in making the government officials stutter.

"Your soon to be wife jumped a horse over the dessert table they were erecting and a frightening red headed woman is currently chasing her round her own wedding tents," Baros smirked, eyebrow raised. "I thought you might like to know."

"It's fine, that's just Erza. Alma should have known better than to threaten the cakes," Bickslow laughed. "Where is she now anyway?" He asked.

Marila smirked. "She was sitting with our royal guard, hiding in plain sight according to Jera," She laughed.

But Bickslow's face had fallen.

"With your guard? The tent next to the Boscan's?" She nodded and he stammered. "The-the rest of my family are with the officials...Alma is unsupervised with the rest of my family... Alma is unsupervised with the rest of my family and armed!" The words were punctuated with the sound of shouting and splintering wood. The noise loud enough to carry through the trees.

"Oh Gods! I need to go!"


She'd followed Laxus's directions to the letter but somewhere in the organizing of Bickslow's wildly over the top wedding, more a festival now than anything else, somewhere in that, the layout changed. When Alma broke through the bush after being chased for half a mile by useless Fiorian soldiers, she found herself riding into the catering party presently assembling the tables for food. People screamed and shouted and it was only good instinct that the horse decided to go over the dessert table instead of trying to stop, a manoeuvre which would have sent her sailing overhead and eating dirt, something that would have been both painful and embarrassing.

But Erza had seen. Open mouthed, fire in her eyes. The woman supervising the dessert table assembly that Alma's horse had just ruined. Mud and grass and dirt and not a single cake untouched by fodder kicked off its feet in the leap.

Alma was a warrior. To the very core of her being she was built to fight...to win ...but in this case, being six months pregnant, weighed down in muddy armour and facing an enraged Erza, built to run. And run she did.

She was faster than Erza only because the woman was in heals and didn't want to rip the dress she'd poured herself into. The restrictive gown slowed her down just enough for Alma to duck in through the tents to hide among the Atlan guards there to escort the King, all the while a laughing Jera had to put her communicator aside because she found herself unable to breath. Of course able to recognize her.

After Erza passed, Alma slipped out of the group making it as far as the gift tent, rushing inside and sitting down, suddenly stuck with the inconvenient need to pee. Pregnancy was exhausting. The woman's calves ached and she was sweaty and tired and the minute any of the rest of them saw her they were going to be pulling at her and scrubbing her down and making a fuss. Alma wanted a little quiet. There was so many people there and she knew them all without knowing a single one. Which was taxing.

While waiting for the sounds of Erza's shouts to fade off into the distance, Alma picked up a few presents from the table and examined them. She rotated a curious looking box and shook it, something clinked, something that sounded suspiciously like breaking glass and she put it down immediately, looking around to make sure no one was there to witness, straightening her helmet before moving on to the next one.

This was something much heavier that looked like it had been wrapped by an unenthusiastic four year old, a glance at the tag revealed it was a gift from Gajeel and Alma smiled eagerly. The chance of something pointy within was high enough to get her blood pumping. Out of everyone at the guild he wouldn't do mushy gifts. She picked up the small one beside it, this one from Levy, a book. She snickered. Separate gifts. Levy definitely didn't approve of his choice. All the better for Alma. Bickslow could open the book. Alma gradually worked her way through the gifts, taking note of the ones that interested her for later.

"What the hell do you think you're doing in here?"

There was suddenly a tall man standing there at the entrance, dark hair, piercing grey eyes; it was easy to tell he was Boscan judging by the clothes and the predatory air of someone already eyeing the bridesmaids. He glared angrily at her. Accusation in every inch of his aura.

Alma had had enough. Late to her own wedding. On the run from Erza. Battered. Cursed with the unending need to urinate. And now a perfect stranger was standing there confronting her over what were essentially her presents.

"Fuck off!" She snarled. For a moment he seemed to lose focus and wince. Staring at her with narrow eyes. Thoughtfully judging her. Alma slammed the gift box she was holding down on the table, growling. "Are you deaf?"

And then he moved, closing the distance quickly for a man his size and even wearing the helmet she felt the blow that put her through the back of the tent and sent her sailing out into the grass where the man pursued her to the shouts of other guests. Alma knew that somewhere there was a definite screw loose because she came to a stop, rolling in the dirt, laughing. The baby was kicking her kidneys and sitting on her bladder and she was in a fight at her own wedding. Bickslow would get his wish, she wasn't leaving the house for the next year. She swore it.

Climbing to her feet she restrained the initial instinct to go for her swords and sucked in a breath. Her opponent was a mage of exceptional ability. She could see it. Feel it. She groaned. In her condition this was not going to be a fight easily won. She reached out but his soul was blocked off. He was trained. Exceptionally well trained. A Boscan Knight or a former Knight. Just beautiful!

People were staring. Hushed whispers. Her head snapped round to see Vander laughing. Chortling so hard he couldn't even breath, couldn't speak out to stop the fight.

She pulled off her helmet and cast it aside and he paused at the sight of her. It was some times difficult to tell she was even a woman when she wore her armour. In her current condition even more so. She was a little beyond bloated.

"I don't care if you're here with the King. You're going to come with me and explain to the bride and groom why you were riffling through their gifts. If you don't, I will force you," His tone broached no argument. Vander's laughter got only louder and the man turned to glare at him, confused and exasperated.

"Is that a fucking joke?" She found herself saying. That seemed to make him even angrier looking. Alma growled low, taking off her sword belt and casting it aside. She pulled off her greaves and they followed the swords into the grass. Her fingers found the straps of her augmented breastplate, but there she found a problem. When she was on jobs, the armour tended to stay on. She'd been riding hard for nearly two days straight and at some point, her growing stomach and bloating had become just a little bit too much. The piece of armour was wedged. Caught on a strap wrapped around her enlarging bust.

Alma let out a breath, all but ready to scream.

"Is this Atla's King's guard? Soldiers so overweight they can't even get out of their own armour?" He said, completely serious. Taking a stance in front of her, at ease, so sure of himself and his guaranteed victory that he couldn't even spare her the respect of appearing even a little concerned. Vander coughed and there was suddenly silence.

There was a sick pleasure in the look of shock on his face when Alma returned the blow; the way his eyes widened at the realization that it was going to land and he wasn't quite fast enough to avoid it. And land the punch did, his head snapping to the side and the rest of him following as he hit the grass hard.

Anger bubbled up in her unrestrained. Unfiltered. Weight was a touchy subject. Fueled by hormones and the self consciousness that came with it all. The angry red stretch marks that Bickslow told her to think of like the battle scars of motherhood; as if she liked looking at her scars at all.

The tall dark haired man hit the dirt hard, coughing and sputtering up grass. He clutched his jaw tightly. She doubted she'd done more than leave a bruises.

She could have explained herself. With a breath between them to talk, she could have used her words and calmed everything down...but Alma was something she rarely ever was in a fight...she was beyond fucking pissed off. Come to her wedding, punch her in the face, insult her and call her fat?

The man she faced deflected the next punch that came his way, the blow rocking off his right forearm before he countered with one of his own. Alma tipped her head to the side a fraction, leaving him to hit nothing but air. In almost the same breath she brought her knee up and kicked out, catching him in the midsection with an armour covered boot that forced him back several steps. He gasped, winded while she felt the acid bubble in her stomach. Not completely sure if it was rage or baby related indigestion.

Before he'd time to recover his senses, she rushed him and he took a hard armoured shoulder to the stomach. She hit harder than he could have possibly guessed, and he realized he hadn't braced himself quite enough, only when she took him off his feet and he felt his heels drag through the dirt. The world whipped by at speed and he felt them pass through one of the tents, colliding with a support beam that splintered, shattering in the middle, bringing the center of the shelter down on everyone's heads to the tune of more unhappy shouting. When the roof of canvas was lifted he found himself on his back on a table surrounded by Atlan soldiers who were previously enjoying a drink before their tent was brought down on them.

The man kicked out and his foot collided with Alma's face, blood spurting from her now broken nose. The Atlan guard were stunned ...because they of course knew who this was that was currently fighting and half of them were torn between intervening to prevent bloodshed, and waiting it out to see who the victor was.

A woman barked something in Atlan, and the Boscan man found himself restrained and pulled to the floor, the soldiers decisions made for them. He felt the razor sharp edge of a sword touch his neck, the wielder behind him. Like Bickslow, and the woman he'd been fighting, their minds were silent to him.

While the guards intervened, Alma felt the baby kick and a wave of nausea suddenly hit her, much harder than the punch that had sent her sailing out of that tent. She clutched her stomach and turned, vomiting into the grass. Deep within her was the fear she was going to be throwing up, right up until the birth.

The man the guard were holding had a dawning horror growing in his eyes. Especially when Vander appeared, still grinning and wiping tears from his eyes. His face red from laughing so hard.

"Who are you?" The man asked. His own voice betrayed him; he wasn't even sure he wanted to have confirmation of the answer he'd already reached himself.

"Kaleb, meet your soon to be sister and nephew," Vander said with a wink to Alma. "Packs a punch, doesn't she? Like a little fucking lunatic firecracker."

She was still coughing and sputtering the blood out of her mouth to look shocked that she'd managed to find another brother at the wedding and get into a fight with him.

"Fuck off, Vander," Alma finally growled.

"Alma!" Bickslow appeared at the tent shouting; utterly manic. He threw a death glare at the man currently greying, looking sicker than the woman vomiting into the grass. "Shush..." He ran to her dropping to the ground to rub her back while she heaved. "Take off that fucking armour," He squeaked in nothing short of terror. She was covered in blood. On her hands and her face.

"I can't... it's stuck," She whined to him.

"Can we get a minute?" Bickslow asked the person behind Kaleb and the Atlan guard began filing out of the tent at an unspoken command. Kaleb didn't stand and the sword at his neck didn't waiver. He stayed a still as a statue. Trying to work out if he'd somehow unintentionally caused an international incident for Bosco. Another one.

"Why didn't you take the chainmail instead?" Bickslow asked her.

"You can see the bump..." She admitted. Being pregnant implied she was vulnerable. She wasn't, but she didn't want to make herself an unnecessary, inconvenient target.

Bickslow undid the pauldron on her arms and helped her squeeze out of the chestplate, cutting it from where it was caught on the leathers underneath. His heart stuttering when he saw the bruises; the already healing bruises, that would soon be joined by a few more from her latest tussle.

"This...is the bride?" Kaleb looked horrified by his own words. Saying it out loud made it all that much worse. So many conflicting feelings. He'd hit a pregnant woman. Assaulted his future sister. Caused an international scene. Gods, there were photographers present. This was who Bickslow was marrying?

Bickslow turned and snapped back.

"Yes the bride! The one that's six months pregnant with your fucking nephew, Kaleb," This was precisely why Alma was to be introduced to his family under supervision.

"Older brother?" Alma questioned with a whine straightening her broken nose.

"One of them. Still one to go... and a sister... the curse continues," He smiled when she started laughing at that. She'd argued or fought with every member of his family so far. No exception.

"You were right, no more missions till afterward..." She let him help her to her feet. Without the bulky armour the rounded stomach was easily visible. As were the injuries. "I concede that this was a mistake..." She wasn't simply talking about taking a mission this close to her wedding and due date, continuing a fight with Bickslow's brother was included in that. A feeling not unlike a menstrual cramp moved like a wave through her abdomen and she sucked in a breath.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Bickslow asked fearfully.

"I'm going to fetch a healer!" Kaleb said, voice trembling, unsure what to do, but the blade pressed in against his neck just that little bit harder, preventing movement.

"No...no, its fine. It's fine," Alma waved them off.

"What was that?"

"Those stupid fake contractions, I can barely tell them apart from the gas sometimes," Bickslow glared at her, the shock and panic passing and replaced with almost anger as the terror receded.

"Late ...to your own wedding!" He rasped. "It'll just be two days. It's a simple job. I need to get out of the house," He mimicked in a high pitched tone that sounded nothing like her. "Two weeks. Six months pregnant on horse back! How much of your magic are you using right this minute to prevent yourself going into premature labor?" He demanded pointing finger at her chest.

"I'll admit, more than originally planned," She wheezed. He wasn't even sure if she was joking. She may not have been.

Bickslow's panic broke and he swooped in to kiss her, catching her off guard and almost taking her legs out from under her; the limbs turning to jelly as soon as his lips made contact.

The sword at Kaleb's shoulder tapped him and a female voice said "Up."

Vander shrugged at his questioning glare.

A shaky, confused Kaleb held up his hands and stood turning around to find an Atlan woman in a royal service uniform pointing a sword at him. Just like Bickslow and his bloodied bride, he couldn't hear her thoughts. He hadn't even known she was there until the sword had landed at his neck, the weapon was one of the two that Alma had thrown aside.

"You're lucky she didn't use these," Jera twisted it in her grip and put it behind her. "And ...you're really lucky you didn't hurt them," An eyebrow rose. "And Vander would always talk about you being the most level headed," She was smiling shaking her head at the shadow mage.

"Most of the time!" The man himself added.

"I honestly don't know what came over me," Kaleb rasped. What she'd said was true. Kaleb was a step away from a guild master back home. His restraint was usually second to none. But in an instant he'd completely lost his temper.

"Don't worry, we've all been there," She was laughing at him.

The implication sunk in.

"Magic?" He rasped. He'd felt no magic, and his own ensured he was usually protected from anything that would influence him.

Jera looked around him to the couple still wrapped in each others arms. Two weeks apart having taken its toll.

"You should come with me, let's get you a drink and sit you back with the rest of your family," Clapping him on the shoulder. "You look like you need it."


They sat at a table that had been dubbed the 'Victim Support Group' by many at the guild. As the pregnancy had progressed those closest to her had noticed that when she got irrational, so did the people around her. When she was angry, so were those closest to her at the time. It didn't take long to work out the woman who had been so sensitive to others was broadcasting her strongest feelings.

The table was littered with a mix of Pradesh family members and Fairy Tail, the group mingling and reminiscing. Mainly about how much trouble the wedding couple had caused them.

"Bickslow didn't just sleep with one of the guys daughters, he slept with two... on the same fucking night. Were we paid for the job? We were lucky when they chased us out of town it wasn't back to the guild to burn it down to the ground," Laxus wiped tears from his eyes, laughing. He could joke about it now...but at the time Bickslow had cost them their pay on a rather lengthy job.

"Yeah, well, I told you about her almost getting her head cut off, didn't I?" Jera exclaimed, sitting beside Vander, all but pressed up against him, his arm resting on the back of her chair like some sort of unspoken claim on any single guys that might want to try their luck with Josta's city commander. The look she threw him when no one was looking seemed to imply she herself was perfectly fine with that. Bickslow could see how their souls reached out for each other. How they were pained by the distance.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Kaleb scoffed at Jera's claim. "I don't care how good her healing magic is. It's not that good," The stray thought that it might be, was enough to make Kaleb's blood run cold.

"You'd say that until you saw her pull out arrows like cactus spines," Laxus nodded. "Or walk onto the end of a sword just to see how many ran when she pulled it out," He laughed.

"I don't care. You can't heal from a severed head. Cris?" Kaleb asked the blonde man at the end of the table, currently laughing with Sipia, Farron's wife. "Can you survive a severed head?"

"I'm going to say no?" He muttered with an uncertain laugh. So far he'd yet to meet the bride himself but he'd heard some tall tails.

"It didn't cut off her head...just her throat," From behind them a grinning Bickslow was smirking. There were a few grass stains on his suit that would need to be cleaned before the ceremony.

"Bickslow..." Kaleb started. No doubt about to launch into an explanation about earlier events.

"Relax, the first time I met her I was torturing her for information," Bickslow pointed at Vander. "He's tried to kill her like, three times already and had his ass kicked in a duel ...and dad stabbed her," He recounted, looking round at the table, there were a few people missing from his family. "Farron?"

"He's got his tongue up the King of Atla's ass..." Vander coughed as Jera elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Ahem...he's talking with King Baros and the other Boscan's. Something to do with a wedding gift? Em is stalking the caterers, apparently they've a roast boar," He swiftly corrected. Emzadi had a weakness for meat to rival Alma.

"Hey, you guys don't happen to know what this gift is?" Bickslow asked, he'd spent the better part of three months prying but still hadn't a notion.

"Not a clue," Vander answered while the others at the table started talking amongst themselves again.

Bickslow's present was currently sitting in Laxus's jacket pocket. Waiting for the exchange after the wedding.

"She asked for you," Bickslow said to Jera who smiled.

"Probably for protection, I'd better head before a second fight breaks out." She laughed at how Kaleb's ears reddened I'm embarrassment

Bickslow saw the way she squeezed Vander's thigh before standing and leaving, and the sly suggestive wag of her eyebrow as she turned toward the cottage. Yeah, he wagered his brother had it bad.

The minute they'd made a public appearance people had hauled her off back to Levy and Gajeel's house. The out of the way dwelling had been offered as a base as the series of clearings Bickslow had picked for the event were right on their doorstep.

At the front door a scowling Mira greeted her and pulled her in by the elbow.

"You must be Jera," She sang sweetly, a hint of something dark flickering under the surface. Jera recognized irritation when she saw it.

"Yep. I..think I've been summoned?" She teased.

The white haired woman smiled lead her through the house where a swarm of people were bustling about a tired, awkward looking Alma who was currently sitting on a kitchen chair, at least two cushions wedged between her ass and the hard wood.

Her hair had been cut and she'd pushed the loose waves back behind her ears. They'd already applied the makeup and Jera honestly almost didn't recognise her. The dark kohl on her upper lids flared out in very Boscan looking wings and someone had patted fine gold powder onto the skin at her hairline and into the roots of her hair. On the bare side of her single shouldered gold gown was a black ornamental pauldron. The material looked too thin to be of much protection in a fight but it was a symbol more than anything. She was a warrior. And she would marry as warriors did, wearing armour. Jera felt words die on her lips to how much a stunning figure her mentor made.

"You look...really...I don't have words," She admitted with a smile.

Alma fingered her own nose ring and gestured to Jera's.

"It suits you. Same with the uniform. Has your timing finally improved?" Alma mocked her.

"Better than yours anyway...I've been told you were late for your own wedding," Jera fired back with a quirked eyebrow and a side grin. It was true Alma's timing used to be impeccable.

"I'll concede, my own has slipped," She said, switching to Atlan. She doubted the others would give her more than a minute in private to talk and there was a conversation that had been a long time coming.

"I...haven't been completely honest with you, and I felt I should probably start. I want to before...well...before this," She smiled awkwardly.

"I know what you're going to say. It's fine," She waved her off casually. "I'd always figured something was a little off, sure, my father wasn't exactly the most likeable man, but you pretty much hated him from day one. And then you'd let him get away with stuff...and you... you don't let people you don't like away with anything. You treated us like family. Too much like family for us to not actually be related in some way," She smiled sadly. "You reminded me of my mother so much sometimes. It..was good to know why. Weird...but good," Jera leaned down and hugged her, careful not to move anything.

"How?" Was all Alma could say.

"Oh," Jera sputtered a brisk laugh. "Vander told me," She smirked.

"For a supposed spy, that asshole has the loosest tongue on the peninsula," Alma complained before her eyes narrowed. "Speaking of him...how are things going with you two. Don't think I don't know about his little sneaky trips back to Josta. I doubt he's going for the weather," Alma's tone was laced with smugness.

"It's... complicated. He helps me with the leg when he visits."

"Love very rarely seems to be straightforward and I'm sure he does," Alma laughed at the way Jera's eyes narrowed.

"I don't know what it is, but it isn't love," Jera said rather coolly.

Alma's eyes flickered blue for a second. Just a momentary flash of power.

"Yes...it is. You've got hooks in each other. And all you're doing at this stage when you get close is reeling each other in. My advice, if you really don't want this to go farther, stop having sex with him!" Alma barked, eyes twinkling with humour.

There was a look of mild panic on Jera's face at the thought before she groaned collapsing into a chair opposite her; expression blank, eyes a little distant. She buried her face in her hands.

"Ughhhhhhh... you think the King would have me executed if I resigned and moved?"

Alma shook her head.

"No. He likes you. Besides, you won't have to, there were a few accommodations Atla made for this treaty. One of which was accepting a couple of Boscan knights into the Kings guard. Bosco doesn't want any more mischievous Seith bending the will of the King's of Atla," She smiled at her young protégé. "I happen to know who Baros requested lead them," Alma knew the man was shrewd but where the presence of Boscan knights so close to him might have been considered a risky compromise to accept, putting those knights under Vander's thumb, the man presently sleeping with the city commander; a man he trusted to some degree was a way of neutralizing it. Baros was a smart fucking man.

Jera's face cycled through so many emotions it made Alma a little dizzy before she leaped forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Alma's shoulders not giving a damn about ruining her makeup or her dress.

"I love you so much...and I fully expect to see this baby when it's born," Jera looked at her sternly. "You will visit afterward!" It wasn't a question or a request. A command. It made Alma smile. Pride. She felt it clearly for the first time.


Bickslow changed his shirt and cleaned the grass stains from his knees while Ever complained about his now less than pristine appearance; the woman having put a lot of work into cleaning him up for the wedding very early that morning.

"How do I look?"

"Like you're about to disappoint a hell of a lot of women, Bix," And she'd hugged him. As close to a brother as she had in the Thunder Legion.

And then it was suddenly time, hours later than planned, a crescent moon visible in the night sky, half of the guests already far, far drunker than even Bickslow had anticipated. Cana passing him a flask of something strong. A nerve steadying warmth hitting his stomach and settling him.

When he turned to see her walk up the aisle it was alone. She wasn't being given away. She didn't like that idea. So instead, Alma appeared there on her own. Most women might have appeared awkward or vulnerable taking a march like that through crowds of unfamiliar faces, under constant scrutiny, but she was the intimidating one. She took large solid steps in her stride. Her back straight, head up. Her dress, her very skin shimmered when the camera flashes hit her. The light reflecting off the metallic gold in her dress and hair, a pair of flat black shoes on her feet. The decorative pauldron that covered her bare shoulder down to her fist drew many a curious and appreciative eye. The entire thing would have looked ridiculous on anyone else; on everyone else. But it was her. This was her.

"You're really wearing armour?"

"You said I could choose...and you started it, remember?"

"I expected you'd pick something other than armour... That can't be comfortable!"

"Hey, you got your enormous, over the top wedding, and I got to pick the dress and its accessories...and to answer your question, it was comfortable a few weeks ago when I tried it on. Now it happens to be chaffing the side of my growing bust and I regret it entirely," She said without humour..

Bickslow straightened his suit.

"Well...you look fucking amazing and I feel underdressed," He looked around at the faces of the onlookers. "Though ...they seem to be too fascinated by you to really notice me," He winked at her.

People took their seats and the ceremony started. It was presided over by a Fiorian appointed minister from Crocus who looked a little too pink in the cheeks; no doubt the man had had a few drinks waiting for them to get ready and it clearly showed, because he kept the ceremony short. Very short. And before they knew it, it was over and Bickslow was standing there, a married man.

In Bosco there were so many protocols for events like this, on average your typical wedding took two days. There were forms to be filled and submitted. It was a complicated and lengthy affair. Something Alma wouldn't have taken pleasure in. This in comparison was short and simple. When Bickslow kissed her at the end he heard people gasp and shout, and he knew that there'd more than likely been a discharge of magic again; apparently another side effect of her being pregnant. Hormones or something along those lines.

They were literally volatile together at the moment; the Kings study had not been an isolated incident and Freed had his work cut out for himself charming the individual rooms of their house.

They walked down the aisle arms linked. There were camera flashes going off, both from the guests and the handful of reporters that had been granted permission to attend. After all, Boscan dignitaries, the King of Atla himself arriving by airship with his newly crowned queen, it was an outrageously enormous event. The only reason the Fiorian King wasn't there himself as well, was on account of the security risk. He stayed in Crocus only under the promise that Atla's King visit the palace before returning home.

As they made it to the end of the aisle one of the photographers stepped out in front of them, partially blocking the way.

"Hey, come on, give us a smile!" He cooed to Alma, who to Bickslow knowledge was actually smiling, at least up to that point; no doubt trying to block out the overwhelming energy of the place.

The man found his camera snatched out of his hands faster than he could blink in shock. Alma locked eyes with him as she smashed it between her two palms. The entire thing crushed beyond repair in an instant of shattering glass and sparking lacrima.

Alma grinned widely then, showing teeth as she handed the remains of the camera back to him.

"This better?" She asked, sweetly.

One of the reporters with the man put a hand on his trembling shoulder and led him away. "She got married in armour... What did you think she'd do?" They could hear him say.

"You didn't have to destroy it," Bickslow whispered to her.

"Not if you want tomorrows newspapers with a front page, full size picture of me fighting with your brother, anyway," She smiled.

"I forget how crafty you are."

"You really have no idea, kitten," She rasped in Atlan.

The reception area was waiting for them in the next clearing. Caterers scurrying around with plates and an enormous tower of a cake on a table by itself, under guard by Erza.

Now was the gift exchange, a prospect that made Bickslow nervous.

Laxus shimmied through the crowd and slipped the small cloth covered parcel into Bickslow's hands. He held it behind his back.

Everyone took their seats and silence descended.

"I know you aren't someone to stand on ceremony, so I figured for once I'd be direct and just get to it," He laughed and people in the crowd cheered and whooped. Bickslow presented his gift, unwrapping it it for her.

Her face fell to one of wonder when she saw it. A small blade about seven inches long with a bone handle hilt. The old bone was scored with images of sandcats framed by vines and there were words etched into the Atlan steel, 'The Light Of My Life Came From Darkness," she repeated the words back to him out loud. Bickslow saw the way her eyes shone and leaned down kissing her on the cheek, obscuring the sight of her tears while she carefully wiped them away.

"It's beautiful...thank you!" Words very almost failed her. She sucked in a breath and looked out into the crowd, to the Boscan men Baros had brought with him on the enormous airship sitting just outside town.

Bickslow had been more than a little preoccupied with the wedding to pay them much heed, but as they approached and he had the chance to examine them, he thought for a second he recognized the oldest; an elderly man with thinning grey hair and a scar on his lip, but it was only a fleeting thought. The only thing he could be sure of was that these men didn't actually seem happy to be there at all.

He looked back to Alma quizzically. No doubt she'd have an explanation.

"I didn't know what I could get you that you didn't already have...forget about that you might want. Family seems to mean more to you than anything. So I figured I'd start there," She said.

Bickslow looked down to her growing stomach and balked. "A baby? Was that the gift?"

She shook her head with a laugh, more a snort than anything, and nodded to the men now standing with the King behind him. When Bickslow turned a Boscan official put a scroll in his hands.

"What's this?" He asked. At the corner of his sight he could see members of his family shift uncomfortably. His father looking concerned. The Boscan government and Bickslow had absolutely zero contact and his father worked hard to keep it like that.

"This is an official apology; a retraction, from the Boscan Steel Council," He said coolly.

"For what?" Bickslow asked, his stomach now in knots. His hands shaking.

"For your exile," The man said, as if Bickslow should have known as much. The old man with them stepped forward. "Its an admission of failure to you and your family. Accepting your innocence at the time and the injustice of sentencing," Bickslow heard the noise his father made. Like he'd suddenly drawn breath on the verge of drowning in the silence between words. There were gasps and mutters from the crowd. The man gestured to the elderly gentlemen at his side. " Derin is with us to remove your brand," He said.

Bickslow stumbled and only Alma's solid hold on him kept him from faltering. He nodded, unable to formulate words, looking to her and back to the faces of his stunned family. He'd be able to return home. Visit them. His son would as well. It was unthinkable, how she managed to organize this.

As if reading his mind she laughed.

"It was added in as part of the negotiations between Atla and Bosco. Really, a tiny thing in comparison to the rest of the reparations the Boscan government ended up making," She added. "Though, these idiots wanted to do it in private, behind closed doors. I thought publicly was better. An apology is meaningless without the appropriate level of shame," She said to him; not even remotely quiet about it, making the Boscan men's faces flush with anger.

She wiped at Bickslow's face and he realised his cheeks were wet. He was crying. He looked to his family to find they were in a similar state. Shocked and elated beyond any kind of comparison.

As she was giving him a new family, she'd also given him back his first. For Bickslow, it quickly became too much to hold in; he openly wept, pulling her up off her feet, spinning her. To thunderous, raucous applause. Fairy Tail were practically exploding.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Bickslow repeated over and over, voice breaking.

"If you would please be still," The old Boscan man croaked, placing his thumb on Bickslows forehead, the brand rippling and moving like water along his skin, seeking out the digit and disappearing where it touched the mage.

It weighed nothing but when it was gone it lifted a burden Bickslow hadn't even realized he carried. He now knew why the man looked so familiar, though when he'd placed the brand on him in the first place, Bickslow had been only a boy, and he, a far, far younger man. Part of the reason the brands were said to be near impossible to illegally remove was because only the one who set the mark could do it. And the particular magic itself was a dying skill.

Bickslow hugged her again.

"I love you...I love you so much!" He cried into her hair.

"You can show me how much later," She looked him dead in the eye and stuck out her tongue, and when Bickslow started laughing at that, he found he couldn't stop.

His family were climbing over people and chairs then, scrambling to get to the couple. Alma grabbed Bickslow and put him between them and her. Shielding herself while Bickslow continue to cry as his family pulled at him and jumped on him. Laughter and tears and just plain old ugly bawling. His sisters snuck around while his brothers mobbed him and circled Alma like predatory sand cats.

Vander spotted her over Bickslow's shoulder.

"YOU'RE GETTING A HUG! JUST ACCEPT IT!" Vander shouted, laughing at her attempt to get away from them. An impossibility thanks to their overpowering numbers.

"Don't think I won't punch you!" Alma said, her voice a tremor, but the smirk pulling at her lips gave her away.

"Fucking worth it!" A mop of reddish gold hair flashed at the corner of her eye and Alma narrowly avoid being tackled unawares by the only sister she hadn't met; stepping and twisting out of the way. A maneuver made difficult by the belly currently throwing off her balance. While Emzadi distracted her, Xally caught her from the flank and in moment she was crushed between them, cursing.

"Why are there so many of you?" She coughed. "ERZA! YOU'LL GET FIRST SLICE OF THAT BEAST OF A CAKE IF YOU GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF THIS!"

They all heard the sound of a skirt being ripped and the ring of steel... and that officially heralded the post-ceremony wedding party, Fairy Tail style.


There would be no whisking off on a honeymoon for them. Not for a while after the birth either, so after the celebrations ended late the following morning Bickslow found himself helping Alma take off her shoes, her feet had literally swollen into them and her back was too sore to bend over and take them off.

Bickslow sat her down on the couch and took a cross legged seat on the floor opposite her, so he could rub her feet.

He watched her wince. And lightened his touch.

"Not you," She said with a light smile. "Little asshole is kicking my kidneys."

"Probably vengeance for two weeks on horseback," Bickslow said, momentarily unimpressed by the memory.

"Well, then he can enjoy the last few months of sedate life in there, before he has to face all this. Your father practically followed me around for the night. Every second word out of Kaleb's drunk mouth was an apology. The rest of you lot just kept trying to hug me and rub my stomach like it'd grant them wishes or something."

Bickslow laughed at the image.

"You can't help them for getting excited," Bickslow defended. Though even he'd had to convince his father and sisters not to temporarily move to Magnolia. They'd only agreed on the promise that they'd visit Bosco. He didn't know where Alma would want to have the child. He'd be a Boscan citizen regardless country he was born into, but having citizenship of three countries couldn't hurt. Magnolia he figured would be best.

"I guess not," She made a face and winced. "Here, gimme your hand," He offered his palm to her and she put it against her stomach. Something collided hard behind the skin and Bickslow pulled back his hand fearfully.

"What the hell was that?"

"I told you. He's beating me up from the inside. My kidneys are being tenderized!" She'd been serious. Bickslow rubbed the palm of his hand absently. He'd fathered a literal monster.

"Ali...I'm having sudden, mildly crippling concerns," He muttered.

"Too late now, dear husband!" She pulled him up and kissed him. "Now, please, if you wouldn't mind, I need you to pick me up and get me to bed, I don't intend to be leaving it for a while."

Bickslow smiled obligingly, scooping her up and heading for the stairs.

"I'm fully expecting my family to turn up here in a few hours, drunk off their asses and arguing about baby names," Bickslow laughed to her.

"About that..." She started and he paused mid step on the stairs.

"You actually have a suggestion?" He asked, eagerly. She'd been frustratingly silent up to then on the matter.

"Ardan," She said and he repeated, rolling it around on his tongue. A clear take on his fathers name, which Bickslow one hundred percent was happy with.

"Does it mean anything?" He asked, not sure if she just liked the sound of it.

"It does. It means 'to aspire to great things'," Her hands patted the bulge under her ribs, wincing when their unborn son replied in kind.

"I love it," Bickslow said. "Though, it'd be funny if it turns out to be a girl, wouldn't it?" He teased.

"I don't care if it's a tree. It's getting called Ardan!" She growled down to her stomach. "You listening in there?"


Notes

I just want to thank you guys so much for sticking with this. I have a bonus Natsu chapter next, if you're interested. Lol He did lead an assault on a fire temple and end up rescuing a lot of people. I think he deserves some story time so I'm gonna give him his moment to tell it.

The next chapter is it on this piece and then I move onto my new Gajevy story. Eeeeeeeeep, so excited for it.

I love you guys so much.