The Scars That Make You Whole
By CrimsonStarbird
The Chosen at the Turn of Time, Part 4
-The Fiery Seas and Icy Winds-
The Previous Day
Over the course of his career so far, Invel had come to realize that there were three fundamental truths to being Chief of Staff of the Alvarez Empire: there was no law that couldn't be passed with the right kind of leverage; there was no magic more powerful than words and hard work; and there was no day so bad that Emperor Spriggan couldn't make it worse.
Certainly, today had had a good stab at overturning that latter maxim, building on the back of an ambitious attempt yesterday and an admirable go the day before.
Then Emperor Spriggan had outdone himself in spectacular fashion.
In retrospect, Invel shouldn't have answered the lacrima.
Still, despite everything he had been through for this man in recent times – or perhaps because of everything – disobedience did not occur to Invel as an option, and he reluctantly allowed the call to connect. "Your Majesty."
"Invel." The crisp response echoed strangely in the confined space, distorted by half-rotted beams and standing water. "Why are you not in Vistarion?"
Invel closed his eyes tight. "With all possible respect, Your Majesty, I have been trying very hard to return to Vistarion."
"Not hard enough! The Summer Ball was ages ago; what is taking you so long?"
Well, now, let me see, Invel answered in his head. First, I had to fix that utter catastrophe you left behind at Mercurius – which I did, by the way, without threatening invasion, being threatened with invasion, or ending up in jail. Ever since then, I have been walking the length of this godforsaken country in an attempt to return home. I have travelled through the night because I haven't had anywhere to stay. I have eaten nothing but wild berries in three days. I, Invel Yura, Chief of Staff to the Emperor of Alvarez, have been reduced to hitchhiking.
Still, only the faintest hint of passive-aggression made it into his voice, and he managed to hide most of that behind a forced laugh. "We can't all teleport between continents at will, you know."
"I do know," His Majesty replied, unimpressed. "That's why I gave you an airship."
"Yes." Invel matched him word for unamused word. "You did. Until you took it away from me and gave it to the Ambassador to Fiore instead, before disappearing without a trace, thus stranding me on my own in a foreign country!"
"…Ah. Yes. I did do that, didn't I?"
There was an uncomfortable silence. Well, it wasn't really silent, but Invel had long since learned to tune out the splashing of water, and he was making a point of ignoring the scampering of tiny claws, just a little too close to his face for comfort. Perhaps if he stayed still enough, they would leave him alone.
"I apologize," His Majesty continued stiffly. "I did not intend to leave you stranded in Fiore after the Summer Ball. My mind was on other things."
One thing in particular, Invel thought. And I don't think it was strictly your mind doing the thinking at all.
But he didn't say it. That wasn't the sort of thing one said to one's emperor.
Then again, he'd probably reconsider the level of politeness this situation deserved when the water reached his waist. For the moment, however, it seemed content to slosh around his knees. As an ice mage, Invel didn't usually mind the cold, but soaked-through feet brought with them a kind of chill for which his magic had not prepared him.
His emperor clearly had no slowly rising water level to distract him from the silence, because he said, awkwardly, "Where are you, anyway?"
Invel had to inhale and exhale three times before he felt capable of replying with a level voice. "I," he began, with supreme calm, "am on a boat."
"But why is it so dark? I can hardly see you."
A shrug. "They don't tend to put portholes in the bilge. I don't believe the rats much care for a good view."
"What are you doing in the bilge? Can't you go up on deck, where I can see you?"
"I could do that," Invel said, and his attempts to keep the sarcasm out of his voice were becoming increasingly less successful. "But if I did, the captain would probably notice I am on his ship, and then I wouldn't be for much longer."
Silence.
"Invel, are you stowing away?"
The words stung like the claws of the first hungry rat. He'd scared that off with a sharp burst of cold, but the shame of those words would not be so easily banished. It was bad enough that he had had to stoop to this level, but he had consoled himself with the thought that no one would ever have to know. Having it spelled out by his emperor really hit hard.
At the same time, there had been disbelief in his emperor's tone – at the evidence of his senses, at the whole situation, at the thought that Invel was going to such lengths. It was therefore with anger and a misplaced surge of pride that Invel said, "Yes, in fact, I am stowing away, because you told me to come home and this was the only means available to me."
"Couldn't you have just bought passage on a ship?" his emperor wondered, baffled.
"Maybe, if I hadn't spent all the Fiorean jewels I had with me on a carriage to take your girlfriend to the ball!"
"But surely there are merchant ships who would allow you to pay on arrival, given who you are."
Invel closed his eyes. It was a good thing he was the one in the bilge, because at the rate His Majesty was digging, he'd have gone straight through the hull and into a watery grave by now.
"Your Majesty," he said, slowly, "do you have any idea how many merchant ships are travelling between Ishgar and Alvarez right now?"
"No idea. There must be loads."
"There are none!" Invel practically shouted. "Not one ship! And do you know why? Because we have spent the past few weeks dialling up our military operations on your orders! Trade between our countries has ceased! The ambassador to whom you gave my airship was the last diplomat to withdraw! We are on the verge of war, and not one vessel, merchant or passenger, is foolish enough to attempt the crossing with such a storm on the horizon!"
"Ah. Then, the ship you're on…"
"I'm ninety-nine percent sure they're pirates, yes," Invel sighed. "And if they knew I was on board, they would sooner hold me to ransom than deliver me safely home."
The other tried to laugh it off. "You could handle a ship full of scoundrels, I'm sure."
"I'm sure I could, too, but what I can't do is sail a pirate ship to Alakitasia by myself."
"I suppose not," His Majesty conceded, settling back into 'flummoxed' as his expression of choice.
"We'll cross into Alvarez waters soon. When we do, I'll cause a commotion and hope to attract the attention of one of our military vessels. I know their patrol routes, because I signed off on them myself, and once I've convinced them to take me to Vistarion-"
"But why?" the emperor interrupted. "Why are you going to these lengths? You could have stayed in Fiore and met up with the army later!"
Invel's eyes flashed, a luminous blue that extinguished what little warmth the seawater hadn't already stolen from the hull. "I could say that I have nothing to do in Fiore, compared to how much there is I need to do at home right now. I could say that I haven't been away from the empire for this long in over eleven years, and I dread to think what the government has become in my absence. But, Your Majesty, the truth is that I am here, in this slimy bilge with my feet rotting away from water exposure as we speak, because you ordered me to return to Vistarion once I had diffused the situation in Mercurius, and thus I am returning to Vistarion."
"Well, yes, but…"
"I will be back well in advance of the First of September invasion, if that is what concerns you," Invel told him crisply.
"But you won't be back today?"
"That would be highly unlikely, considering that I overheard the captain saying that we were going to make port for the night in Providence Bay, home to such subtle establishments as The Duchess's Knickers, which I can assure you does not lie in any jurisdiction in which I hold authority."
"Hmm." There came a thoughtful tapping, finger on crystal. "That's no good. We're leaving at sundown; you won't make it in time. Invel, you need to turn around and return to Fiore."
"What." It was not a question. It had surpassed the mere mortal rank of question and become some fundamental misalignment in the world, which apparently no one could see but him.
"Tonight, I am taking a team of our best mages to Fiore to meet up with some Dragon Slayers and defeat Acnologia once and for all," His Majesty explained. "You are to return to Fiore and rendezvous with us there."
Invel had been trying so hard to stay calm.
He really, really had.
Never mind that it wasn't the dim lighting that was making his hair appear black, but a dye of putrid water; never mind that the stench of this place would have emptied his stomach in a heartbeat if the seasickness hadn't got there first; never mind that he didn't think his feet would ever dry out, and that was assuming that the sodden things came with him when he left, and didn't simply drop off where they stood… he had been trying so hard to respond to his emperor's questions with civility, and ensure his frustration never breached the boundaries of passive-aggression, which his emperor usually tolerated from him.
This was a step too far.
"Are you out of your freaking mind?" Invel shrieked, over the sound of the bilge rats fleeing in terror. "Have you any idea what I have been through for you these past few weeks? I have left my home; I have travelled to Ishgar on my own; I have had to put up with Fairy Tail's drunkard crying on my shoulder to maintain my cover; I was dragged along on your ill-advised mission to stop Avatar and forced to fight an opponent far out of my league; not to mention, I had to escort your girlfriend to the ball because you were too afraid to speak to her yourself – and when you decided you did want to go to the ball, almost triggering a literal war in the process, I was the one who had to sort it out without a word of thanks! And to top it all off, I've crossed half the ocean in the filthy bowels of a pirate ship all because you told me to come home, and now you're telling me to just turn around and go back because you've suddenly remembered my existence and you don't care how miserable it is! Well, I have had quite enough!"
He sucked in a breath, and spat, as if a worse insult had never been uttered in the history of man, "I am not a guild mage. I do not go on adventures; my job is not to trek back and forth across a foreign continent at your every whim! I am a highly capable, experienced, and professional political advisor, and my place is in my office, with my paperwork, quietly holding your empire together through these ridiculous stunts you keep pulling! So if it's all the same to you, Your Majesty, I am going to carry on to Vistarion as planned, sleep for about a week, and then make a start on undoing all the damage that has been done to the empire in my absence."
Even after his rant had ended, the rats did not dare to leave their hidden dens. The only sign of life was the distant sound of the pirates setting the mainsail, swabbing the deck, weighing the anchor, walking the plank, or some combination of the four; it was all the same to Invel.
He was expecting disappointment or refusal.
He was hoping for anger, because he had a lot more to say, and that would have given him the justification.
What he got was a deep pause, followed by words that were quiet but firm: "It's not all the same to me. I want you to be there when we face Acnologia."
"But why?" Invel wailed. "Fighting isn't my speciality! I couldn't even beat Jellal for you; what use will I be against a dragon?"
"That doesn't matter. This is the battle that will change everything. This is the moment of truth, the turn of time, the day on which the future course of our world will be set. You have earned the right to be there more than anyone. After the role you have played in helping me reach this point, I want you to be with me in that moment, Invel. Please."
There came a groan so deep and baleful that all the sailors who heard it thought that the ghost of a drowned witch must have taken up residence upon their vessel.
"I do love you, Your Majesty," Invel said shortly. "For all your manipulations and all your cruelty, I really do. Just sometimes, you make it bloody difficult for me to remember why." He closed his eyes with a thoroughly worn-out sigh. "I will be there. One way or another."
He snapped the connection and returned the lacrima to his pocket.
Sure enough, that was another perfectly bad day made worse by the whims of his infuriating, beloved emperor.
Little did he know he was about to meet someone capable of making his day even worse.
For what it was worth, Captain Henry 'Swordfish' Tyde, setter of mainsails, swabber of decks, weigher of anchors, and valued customer of the Long Loose Plank Co, wasn't having a particularly good day either.
So much so, in fact, that the sight of the water thickening into ice around his ship didn't even scrape into the top three worst things to have happened to him since sunrise.
As the ice continued to accumulate with great care, slowing the ship to a crawl while putting as little strain as possible upon the well-worn timbers, he found himself wishing that whichever fey spirit of winter had it out for The Pillaging Shark that sunny afternoon had just magicked an iceberg into their path and been done with it. At this stage, Captain Swordfish was more than willing to go down with his ship.
Quite literally, in fact, given that he was currently chained to the mast.
To think that this was the thanks he got for trying to be a progressive pirate.
How many of his fellow captains, upon seeing a young lass at the dockside seeking passage to the Free Isles, would have welcomed her on board? None, that's how many. They would have pushed her away with superstitious fright, as if she hid ill-fortune in her bosom and scurvy behind those plump lips.
Not Captain Swordfish, though.
As far as he was concerned, calling it 'bad luck' to bring a woman on board was nothing more than disguising plain old discrimination behind the socially acceptable veneer of superstition, hammered into place by the rusty nails of tradition. No, Captain Swordfish had always been an equal opportunities plunderer. He robbed men and women equally, his targets chosen purely for their robbable qualities – amount of treasure, number of guards, and so on – rather than gender, social status, or number of limbs prior to act of piracy. So why would he turn down gold willingly offered in exchange for passage to the Free Isles, just because the one offering it happened to be a woman?
Well, technically, she had offered him jewels rather than gold, but one couldn't be picky in this political climate. Alvarez ships, so it turned out, understood the concept of 'free waters' even less than Fiorean ones.
So, despite the superstitious mutterings of his crew, he had taken her money, welcomed her on board The Pillaging Shark, and instructed them to treat her with the utmost respect – until they got within sight of the Free Isles, naturally, at which point they would strip her of everything she owned and let her race the sharks the rest of the way, just like they would a gentleman passenger, while Captain Swordfish sailed off into the sunset.
So much for that.
'Captain Morgan', she had dubbed herself, as she'd lifted his prized tricorn hat from his head and set it upon her own. He doubted it was her real name – and she certainly wasn't a captain. Appearance didn't make a captain any more than a treacherous band of mutineers made a crew. She'd learn that for herself soon enough.
Still, he had to admit the name was fitting, if only because this whole affair had started because of a barrel of rum.
Granted, it wasn't the first affair of his that had started with rum and ended in handcuffs, but this one was shaping up to be a lot less fun. In fact, the whole thing was highly unfair, given that he hadn't even touched a drop of the stuff himself.
Every captain worth his salt knew better than to break out the rum this early into the voyage. Pickings were lean at present – imminent war did that to a shipping trade – and he would need something to motivate his crew in the event that they failed to secure any plunder. Hence, the rum. Winchester Estate's finest, as it happened. Aged for twelve years and stolen fresh that very morning.
Then stolen from him not an hour ago by Captain bloody Morgan.
To be fair, she had offered to buy it off him first. Since he was planning on stealing all her money anyway, though, this would have been a poor business decision and an all-round waste of good rum. Unfortunately, she seemed to consider herself something of a rum aficionado, and wouldn't take no for an answer.
Which would have been fine – they could have simply accelerated the throwing-her-to-the-sharks plan – if not for the fact that several of his younger crew members seemed rather taken with her ludicrous vision of free rum for all. Demands were made, warnings were issued, sensible arguments regarding employee motivation were made and rejected, and bam! Mutiny.
Next thing he knew, he was chained to the mainmast while the newly tricorned Captain Morgan lounged on the deck, drinking Winchester's finest from a grubby tankard, while the treacherous drunken dogs he had once considered his crew lolled around her feet.
Well, they'd come crawling back soon enough. It would only be a matter of time before Captain Morgan discovered that a single barrel of rum consumed only two hours after leaving port was not a long-term solution to the problem of crew resource management.
And he might not even have to wait that long to witness her comeuppance, if the ice which had now succeeded in bringing The Pillaging Shark to a disappointingly safe halt was anything to go by.
It seemed she had noticed at last, lowering her tankard in a slosh of rum and remarking with all the insight he had come to expect from someone whose blood apparently ran with the stuff: "Why've we stopped?"
"Ice, Cap'n! Surrounding the ship!"
She scrutinized her tankard like a real captain would have scrutinized an ancient treasure map. "Well, why's it out there, and not in my drink?"
"Uh…"
The beleaguered crewmember was saved from having to respond when a hatch burst open, expelling a deckhand who scrambled towards their imposter captain. "Cap'n! Below- there's a monster-"
A blast of icy wind tore across the deck and froze the sailor solid.
"…Huh," Captain Morgan remarked. "I didn't realize we were that far north. I think I've missed my stop. Can I get off?"
From out of the hatch lurched the monster that the deckhand had tried to warn them about: a shambling misshapen humanoid, covered from head to foot in mud and filth and seaweed. A mer-witch, most likely. Some scorned wench, left to drown, who had dined with Davy Jones and now was back for vengeance.
Captain Swordfish grinned as he sat up straighter against the mainmast. At least he had front row seats for that mutineer's karmic downfall.
As the mer-witch staggered and swayed across the deck, panic broke out. Some sailors jumped overboard and skidded across the ice, others scrambled for cutlasses and pistols, yet more muttered that this was their comeuppance for setting sail with a woman on board – funny how they hadn't seemed to care when they'd thought she was a bar-wench – and how they should never have left port in such dangerous times. Such cowardice. It wouldn't have happened under Captain Swordfish, that's for sure. It was only a matter of time before his crew turned to him for help.
The hipflask abandoned by one of the deserters rolled up against his toe. Shuffling in his chains, he raised it to his lips and sat back to enjoy the show.
"Stop!" rasped the mer-witch. The voice didn't sound particularly feminine, but Captain Swordfish was an equal opportunities plunderer; he didn't judge. She continued, "I command you to turn this ship-"
Then she stopped. Stared.
The creature of the deep and the imposter captain stared at each other across the deck of The Pillaging Shark, the silence amplified by the impromptu ice shelf.
Captain Morgan wondered, "Have we met?"
"I- I think not!" blustered the mer-witch.
"Are you sure? There's something familiar about you…"
"I am a mer-witch! I do not associate with puny mortals!"
"You don't seem like a mer-witch," she frowned. "More like a man covered in… well, I don't actually want to know what you're covered in. It's put me right off my drink."
The mer-witch drew herself up to her full height, the wind trailing filthy hair behind her as she intoned, "I am the demon of these waters, and unless you turn this ship around right now-"
Captain Morgan held a tarot card up in front of her. "Prayer's Fountain."
A blast of water hosed down the astonished mer-witch. Who, stripped of grime and mystery, looked a lot less like a monster and a lot more like a person wearing what might once have been a suit, before it had marinated in the bilge.
"Invel!" the false captain cried joyfully. "I knew it was you! Fancy meeting you in a place like this!"
If the sheer ice in his tone was anything to go by, the not-witch called Invel did not, in fact, fancy this idea one bit. "This ship will return to Fiore at once."
"Uh, no, I don't think it will."
The temperature on the deck dropped further. "That wasn't a request."
Captain Morgan folded her arms. "Well, now, hang on a minute. I stole this ship first; I get to decide where it goes!"
"I am not stealing," Invel snapped, as if he abhorred the very thought. "I am commandeering this lawless vessel at the behest of my emperor."
"Well, however you want to dress it up, I still got here first, and I need to get to Junice Island. Which, incidentally, we would have reached by now if you hadn't decided to turn this place into the Arctic Circle. So if you wouldn't mind de-icing the ship, you can drop me and my barrel of Winchester off at Junice, and then you can sail on to Fiore or wherever. Got it?"
"If you think I am going to delay my duty so that you can finish your booze cruise around the Free Isles-"
It was about then that Captain Swordfish decided he had had enough.
So much for karma; Captain Morgan and the mer-witch knew each other! The voyage was done for. The half of the crew which hadn't fled at the monster's initial appearance had taken the chance to ice-skate to freedom while the pair were bickering. And to top it all off, they were arguing over The Pillaging Shark, nightmare of the seas and the greatest treasure a pirate could ever own, as though she were a taxi service.
Captain Swordfish would not stand for it.
Down with the ship it was.
The thing was, during Captain Morgan's short stint in charge, the deck hadn't been swabbed once. She had been too busy buying the deckhands' fickle loyalty with stolen rum to enforce any such chore, and, imposter that she was, the importance of keeping a damp, clean deck on a ship packed full of gunpowder for the cannons had gone straight over her tricorned head.
That wasn't to say the deck was dry. Quite the contrary – it was sticky and glistening with spilt rum.
Flammable spilt rum.
As one hand tipped the remainder of his hip flask onto the deck, watching with grim satisfaction as the rum trickled towards the nearest powder keg, the other hand reached for the lighter in his boot. If he couldn't have the ship, there was no way in hell either of those two were getting it.
The Pillaging Shark went up in a ball of blue flame.
"I cannot believe you."
Invel's voice should have sent chills down the spines of all who heard it, but the effect was deadened somewhat by the golden island sun beating down upon them as he and Cana hauled themselves up onto the beach. There they remained, sprawled on the sand, Invel wringing water out of his hair and Cana stripping down to the bikini she had been wearing underneath in the hope of drying off more quickly.
"Me?" she retorted. "I had a good thing going before you showed up! You cost me an entire barrel of Winchester! Do you have any idea how much that goes for on the open market?"
"Hundred and fifteen thousand jewels a bottle," Invel gasped out, shoulders heaving.
Cana stared at him.
"Luxury rum; it's a key component of the Consumer Price Index in international trading ports," he explained tiredly.
Cana squinted at him.
"It doesn't matter. I am under no obligation to reimburse you for something you stole in the first place."
Her sodden hair slipped around her shoulders as she shrugged. "They were planning on stealing from me, anyway. I was entitled to it."
"If that is how the criminal justice system works in this country, then you have more problems than I thought," he told her crossly, but she laughed it off.
"Says the man who stowed away and disguised himself as a mer-witch in order to frighten the pirates into taking him where he wanted."
After a moment's consideration, Invel decided to let her continue to believe that being coated in bilge-filth had been part of his cunning plan. "I do what I must," he ground out. "And it doesn't change the fact that I would be back in Fiore by now if not for your interference."
"And I would be in Junice if not for yours, so stop acting as though I'm the only one to blame," Cana grumbled, although she didn't seem nearly as put out by their situation as Invel was. She lay spread-eagled on the sand, closing her eyes. "Still, of all the places we could have washed ashore, Caracol Island isn't half bad. I've been on holiday here before. The spiked mango punch is to die for."
Invel got to his feet abruptly. His sodden coat thwacked against his shins. He had refused to discard it even as he had hauled himself through the sea towards land – it was a sign of his status and his duty – but at least the swim had washed away all trace of his stay in the bowels of the pirate ship.
"Well I'm glad you saw fit to ruin my endeavours in order to get yourself a nice holiday," he snapped.
"I'm just trying to make lemonade here! Which, incidentally, is another thing Caracol is famous for-"
"The only thing you could do to make this predicament any better would be to kindly stay out of the rest of my life. I'm going back to Fiore. Do not get in my way again."
With that, he strode away across the beach.
If he had honestly thought she would listen, though, he ought to give up his job as Emperor Spriggan's overseer of intelligence reports right now, because he had severely misjudged his enemy's nature.
"You really need to learn how to take it easy," Cana lectured him cheerfully, as she fell into step beside him. Annoyingly, it was much easier for her to move in her scanty swimwear than in his seawater-saturated suit. "Why are you so desperate to be in Fiore, anyway?"
Invel stopped short and rounded on her, his eyes the darkest thing in this island paradise. "Because, tomorrow, my colleagues are going to fight Acnologia, and I need to be there with them."
"Why didn't you say so?" The expression on Cana's face mirrored his when he had found out just who was captaining The Pillaging Shark. "That's way more important than what I was doing in Junice! We could have gone straight there!"
With a growl, Invel stomped away in little puffs of sand. Not that that stopped her from fluttering around him like a drunken moth, trying to recapture his attention. "Stop sulking like you've lost the fight already! We can get from Caracol to Fiore in less than twenty-four hours, no problem!"
"How? I don't have any money!"
"I do. My bag's got waterproofing enchantments on it to protect my cards." She zipped open the puffy blue pouch as if this utterly mundane fact was worthy of his attention. "I can lend you some. We'll add it to what you owe me for that barrel of Winchester that went up in flames."
"I owe you nothing!"
She shrugged. "Alright, fine, I'll write it off against those drinks you bought me the other week. Point is, I can help. We can just buy passage off the island."
"On which boats?" Invel fumed. "No trading vessels are sailing west from Fiore right now! The governments of Ishgar and the Free Isles are advising people not to travel; no passenger vessel is going to set sail in the current political climate! You must know this. That's why you bartered passage on a pirate ship rather than taking a pleasant cruise to Junice Island, is it not?"
"What? No! I felt like an adventure, and besides, pirates have the best taste in rum." At his expression, she threw up her hands. "I tried really hard to pay for it!"
That was far from Invel's only problem with her words – with her entire mentality, more like – but he had wasted enough time humouring this woman already. "Well, now that you've gone and got the only pirate ship foolish enough to sail within Alvarez patrol routes blown up, we are stranded on this island!"
"Not just any island," Cana stressed. "The most popular holiday destination in the Free Isles, complete with all the amenities of a five-star beach resort! Namely, boat hire!"
She pointed at the jetty, where a motorboat was currently taking its leave, a banana boat loaded with a giggling hen party in tow.
"No," said Invel.
"It'll be fun!"
"No," repeated Invel.
Cana raised her eyebrows. "You'd make a rubbish guild mage."
"Hence why I am not one."
"But sometimes," she continued, not paying any heed to his words, "you've got to think like a Fairy Tail mage to find the way forward." She slung her arm around his shoulders. "Leave it to me. I bet I can get you to that battle faster than you could on your own."
It was then that Invel felt a sudden deep understanding towards Captain Swordfish, who had sent his ship direct to Davy Jones rather than put up with Cana's nonsense for a moment longer.
However, Invel was not the self-destructive type. One didn't stand a chance as Emperor Spriggan's Chief of Staff if they abandoned ship at the first sign of crisis – or of whimsy. Did he really want to get out of what Cana was planning more than he wanted to stand by His Majesty's side at the turn of time? Shouldn't he be using all the resources available to him in order to return to where he belonged?
Still, for all his resolve, he wasn't quite able to shake the feeling of authorizing his own execution as he said, "Very well."
"Great! There's just one thing I need from you first…"
"And what would that be?"
By now they had reached the main beach, a picturesque scene of golden sand and crystalline sea entirely ruined, in Invel's opinion, by an overabundance of noise and colour and people with too much time on their hands. He intended to walk on, to somewhere better suited for underhand planning, but it seemed Cana had other ideas.
Without warning, she pulled him into a photobooth. Its camera was fixed before a backdrop of palm trees and the open sea, and she manoeuvred him in front of it before leaning her head on his shoulder, beaming. "Smile!"
"What…?"
The photo-lacrima got its pre-programmed head around the situation before Invel did, giving a faint click and a whir before he thought to jerk away. Cana reached for the glossy card the booth spat out. Invel caught a horrifying glimpse of the picture it bore – sun, sea, sand, Cana in her bikini, and a man who couldn't possibly be Emperor Spriggan's highly respected Chief of Staff – then she flipped it over and, as if it were a postcard, began to write.
"Cana," he began, dubiously, "what are you doing?"
"I was originally heading for Junice Island because that's where my dad currently is," she explained. "Rumour is, Fairy Tail is going to be attacked as soon as we've all got back together. I figured I'd track him down and get him to come help."
Invel bit back a shudder at the thought of fighting Gildarts. They had been monitoring his movements very closely before His Majesty had thrown logic out of the window and picked an entirely arbitrary invasion date for them instead.
"But the thing about my dad," Cana continued, rummaging in her bag for a stamp, "is that he's got his priorities a bit backwards. If I just write to him and tell him that Fairy Tail might be in danger soon, he won't see it as a big deal; we're in danger all the time. Maybe he'll wander back, maybe he won't. Either way, he probably won't arrive until it's over. This, though…"
Cana showed him the photograph, on the back of which she had written:
Hi Dad,
Having a great holiday with my new boyfriend, Invel. Back to Fairy Tail tomorrow – can't wait to introduce him to the guild! See you soon.
Love,
Cana.
"That'll get him back to Magnolia in no time," she said happily, whisking the postcard out of Invel's hand and into the nearest postbox before he could scream. "Right, that's my job done. Let's go do yours."
It would, Invel reflected, be something of a miracle if he was ever allowed to do his sensible, civilized desk job ever again.
If Acnologia didn't kill him, Gildarts definitely would.
"Cana, we can't take this speedboat all the way to Fiore. It says right here on page sixteen of the contract that the boat must not be taken more than three kilometres from Caracol-"
"Invel. Shush."
"Would you at least slow down? According to the terms and conditions, we will be liable for any damage incurred while travelling at over seventy-five percent of the nautical speed limit-"
"Invel. Shush."
"And the user manual says-"
"Invel."
"Even I know that this reckless steering flies in the face of best practice-"
"Invel."
"How much rum did you have on that pirate ship? The legal limit for operating a vehicle-"
"Invel," Cana interrupted, louder this time, "I think you have a problem."
"Yes, I do: your driving! After everything you've already put me through, you will have to forgive me for trying to stop you causing me any more problems!"
"Just trust me, okay?"
"I do not trust you!"
Calmly, Cana observed, "You always have to be in control, don't you? You have to do everything yourself, because you can't trust anyone else to get it right."
"That is not true at all," he bristled. "Just because I don't trust you to follow proper health and safety procedure – a belief which is based on solid empirical evidence – doesn't mean that I don't-"
"Invel! I am going to get you to the battle on time, okay? So sit down, shut up about speed limits, stop trying to drive the goddamn boat over my shoulder, and for once in your life, let someone with a more appropriate skillset take care of the problem for you!"
Silence fell.
Invel muttered, "I am not trying to drive the boat over your shoulder; I am merely pointing out that the hire contract you signed back on Caracol restricts-"
"Shut up, Invel," Cana said.
And, to his surprise, he did.
"Start slowing down."
Invel's latest instruction came in a somewhat subdued tone, invoking the spectre of a reluctant 'please' rather than an ineffectual legislative hammer, and perhaps that was the reason why Cana did so even as she glanced teasingly over her shoulder. "Awake at last, I see."
In truth, Invel didn't remember sleeping, but the day and night had gone by faster than such an unpleasant time ought, and he felt more rested than he had since his hellish odyssey had begun that night at the ball.
"Told you I would get us there," Cana was saying, and even though she must have driven the boat through the night, her eyes sparkled.
Around them, the sea lay still, disturbed not by the regular roll of waves but by the occasional rippling tremor, as if some stormy god were striking its surface with a hammer.
In the distance, the bright sky was shattered by bursts of brighter light. All were centred around a single smudge of darkness, a shadow of the apocalypse, a wound in the world.
Cana gave a low whistle. "That brings back some unpleasant memories."
Invel just nodded, not wanting to vocalize his own growing sense of unease. He was almost glad that getting here had been such a challenge. It meant there hadn't been much time to dwell on what would happen once they arrived.
Their borrowed speedboat skimmed along under the radar of both the dragon and the Alvarez airship. They were close enough to catch the exact moment Acnologia swooped in to strike at the ship's engines, delivering a crippling blow before His Majesty – it had to have been him; none but an immortal would be capable of summoning such a divine level of power – struck him away, falling to the ocean's depths with the airship plummeting helplessly in his wake.
The airship that Invel knew full well was not waterproof.
He had approved the funding to build the damn thing, after all.
"Stop the boat," Invel instructed.
Cana gave him a baleful look, saw that all his attention was focussed on the battle instead of her, and decided, after all this, that there was no point informing him that she wasn't his chauffeur.
"Just out of curiosity," Invel asked, his flinty gaze still on the falling ship, "do you have a jumper you could put on? Or anything that's more substantial than that shameful thing you're wearing?"
"It's called a bikini, Invel. And it also happens to be the recommended outfit for piloting a speedboat through a tropical ocean. Bringing anything else would be superfluous."
After a brief internal struggle, Invel took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
"What…?" she wondered, and by way of an answer, Invel released his magic.
His Majesty had observed, on the first day they met, that Invel was not a naturally talented mage. He would never reach the level of those who had lived and breathed magic from birth, who saw a world no one else did between the cracks of the mundane. Invel, who already had his hands full with the mundane – those boring, unnecessary things, like the education system and the health service – couldn't afford that kind of fanciful mentality. Someone in the Alvarez government had to keep their head in reality.
But it was also true that there was nothing Invel had not excelled at, when he had put his mind to it – for he did not know how not to work hard – and when His Majesty had offered him guidance and told him to train, he had done so without a second thought.
Just in case he was ever required to flash-freeze an entire ocean.
It wasn't as simple as freezing The Pillaging Shark. To the Dragon of Magic, a surface frozen magically was less a barrier of ice and more a tasty snack. Instead, Invel had to freeze the surface and supercool the water below such that the ice would propagate downwards of its own accord, powered by thermodynamics rather than magic. It was a delicate dance at a blistering pace, calculating and correcting for the flows of heat so quickly it could almost be called instinct, were he the kind of uncivilized battle-mage who relied on such things.
And then the sea was pure ice, and the dragon was trapped beneath it.
The airship skidded to an ungainly – yet surprisingly safe – landing, but Invel barely noticed. The burst of power had left him faint. He would likely have struggled to remain standing, if not for the extra motivation provided by the sight of his emperor half-running and half-slipping across the ice sheet towards their now-stranded speedboat.
"I was wondering when you were going to show up, Invel," called His Majesty, eyes brighter than all the magic unleashed in this place combined.
It was Cana, however, who answered. "Well, if it isn't Lucy's mysterious spymaster. Should've known you were behind this."
"Cana," he acknowledged, calmly, taking in the fact that she was stood there in Invel's coat, before looking back at the ice mage. "Since when have you two been friends?"
"We are no such thing," Invel retorted, at the same time as Cana said, "It kind of happened somewhere between blowing up a pirate ship, washing up on a tropical island, and riding this stolen boat all the way to Fiore."
"I see," His Majesty remarked, and Invel didn't want to know just what he thought he was seeing. Invel shot the man a pleading look and hoped that being mid-battle with the Dragon of the Apocalypse could temper his emperor's whimsical moods.
It was, perhaps, the only thing that could, for all he said was, "You'll have to tell me about your quest sometime."
Hopefully, never. Invel did his best to downplay it: "I do not think I am cut out for questing."
"I don't think you are either," His Majesty agreed. "But, it's good to get a change of perspective every once in a while."
"I suppose you would say that," Invel conceded begrudgingly, thinking of all the time His Majesty spent wandering, and how much this most recent excursion had changed him.
Perhaps His Majesty was thinking the same, because he smiled again, truer than Invel had ever seen. "Thank you for being here, Invel."
And with those heartfelt words all his lingering annoyance slipped away, and he knew that this man could throw him into a hundred more situations like the Summer Ball or the pirate ship and he would handle every one of them without complaint. From the bowels of The Pillaging Shark he had argued with his emperor, claiming that he made it so difficult for Invel to remember why he loved him; here, standing right in front of him, Invel could not comprehend how he had forgotten it. When His Majesty was brilliant and lucid and truly himself, there was no one in the world quite like him.
And Invel thought that he had never felt so proud to stand beside him, knowing that after everything that had almost come between them since Invel had fled to Fiore, he was wanted, trusted, valued.
"I will always be here for you," he said fiercely, blinking back the tears.
His Majesty nodded once. "And your timing was impeccable, as always." Then he glanced back towards the airship, and the moment faded back into stark and deadly reality along with his smile. "But for now, you two need to get on board the airship. Wall is trying to salvage the engine; we must return to the skies before-"
Before their nightmares came to pass.
An immense burst of light obliterated half the ice shelf.
In the cloud of steam thrown skyward from the reopening of the Earth's core, there rose an immense black talon, fury released, devastation reborn.
A/N: Is this the most ridiculous thing I have ever written? Yes. Is it the most fun I have ever had whilst writing? Also yes. I have no regrets. Though Invel probably has many.
On a less fun note, there probably won't be a chapter next week. I'll see how it goes when I get there, but I'll probably be spending the weekend catching up on jobs since I've been super busy over the last few weeks. Not only is the next chapter a really long one, but also it's the big finale of the Acnologia fight and I want to make sure I do it justice. Sorry to do this at such a pivotal moment! The finale will definitely be up in a fortnight at the latest. ~CS