Homeward Hours

By CrimsonStarbird

Chapter Twelve – They Call It Diplomacy

Ah, winter.

That peaceful time of year when animals slept through the season and humans hid from it indoors; when you could blink and miss a day but the nights were deep with stars and long with promise; when snow smoothed the earth and mist muffled all sound… and, apparently, when people did DIY in other people's gardens.

Zeref had been trying really hard to ignore them. The problem was, he'd been up most of the night trying to get an experimental magic circle working, with the intention of sleeping in the next morning, but the sounds of hammering and shouting right outside his house were starting to get on his nerves. What was the point of living apart from everyone if people were just going to come to him uninvited?

Giving up, he wrenched open the front door and marched outside. Squinting through the glare of the low sun, he could make out the familiar silhouette of Makarov in his wheelchair. Of course he was the culprit; he and Lucy were the only ones who ever came up here, and at least she had some respect for other people's homes. Also with him was a young woman who looked to be around Lucy's age. Mentally sifting through the information he had once gathered in preparation for a war, and now updated occasionally using odd details from one of Lucy or Makarov's stories, he concluded that she was probably the one called Levy.

They were hunched over something at the very edge of the Fairy Sphere. Well, Levy was hunched over; Makarov was shouting instructions and generally getting in the way with his magically extended arms. It looked like they were trying to construct something part-in and part-out of the Fairy Sphere without crossing the line themselves, and the dexterity that the challenge required was getting the better of them.

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

Unfortunately, Makarov was entirely used to his rude greetings by now. The beaming smile on the old Master's face as he wheeled around to face him was never a good sign. "We're assembling Lucy's belated birthday present, of course."

"Why are you doing it outside my house?"

"Where else are we supposed to put your mailbox?"

"…Come again?"

And there he had thought Makarov was one of the more sensible members of the guild. No, he was just as mad as the rest of them.

"Lucy was complaining about how she had to run back and forth to deliver messages between you the last time the Master was in hospital," Levy offered as an explanation. "And how she has to take all your letters to the post office herself."

All was a bit of an exaggeration, Zeref thought. Of the ten or so he'd sent, most of them had been arranging the S-Class Trials on Makarov's behalf. All the people he might have wanted to correspond with were either dead or believed he was.

Makarov picked up, "So, we've sorted everything with the postal service and got your address officially registered. That way, you can mail-order things you want to buy, and Lucy won't have to run around after you so much. Plus, we've got you this brand new mailbox, which is going to sit right on the barrier, so that the postman can slide letters in and you can take them out from your end. Or, at least, it would if Levy could hammer it in straight…"

"I'm trying!" the girl protested. "The ground is frozen solid. I told you we should have waited until spring!"

"Hmm… Zeref, thaw the ground for us, would you? It's not working very well from this side of the barrier."

"If I do, will you go away?"

The old Guild Master grinned at him.

It was almost enough to make him change his mind.

But he'd spent enough time with Makarov now – reluctantly – to know that pushing him usually only made him twice as devious, and the twinkle in the old man's eye was enough to warn him off trying. Sighing, he crouched down on his side of the barrier and let his magic flow into the frozen earth. The ice softened and the earth crumbled, and together, they set the homemade mailbox into the ground. If a corner of a coat occasionally passed through the barrier as they worked together, he pretended not to notice. He wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

Once they had the contraption assembled, Zeref's attention was caught by a vertical line of runes carved into the post of the mailbox. They were crude – untreated wood was hardly an ideal medium – but as he ran his finger along them, he could sense the magic crackling against his skin. Runic spells like these to strengthen and protect would not have been out of place on the outer wall of a castle. "This is a little overboard, don't you think?"

The question had been directed at Makarov, but it was Levy who answered. "Well, Lucy mentioned that you'd set fire to the last piece of garden furniture she brought you." As one, they all looked over to the poor half-a-picnic-bench, which had succumbed to the elements at the onset of winter and now lay on its side, slowly being swallowed by moss. "I thought fireproofing the mailbox was probably a good idea, and once I'd started, I figured I'd keep going and see what I could do. Freed's teaching me rune-based magic, you see. But he's away on long jobs a lot, so I need all the practice I can get."

Zeref said, neutrally, "Antharki isn't a beginner's language."

"Oh, the language isn't the problem; I've been able to read Antharki since I was about eight." She waved it off, as if she genuinely didn't realize how abnormal that was. "I've just not used it to actually construct magic before. That's what Freed is trying to teach me. It requires a whole different mindset to Solid Script, and I'm still miles off being able to use it in a combat situation, but I don't think I'm that bad when I've got the chance to stop and think through the runes."

Zeref's gaze flicked to Makarov, who was gazing up at the sky and whistling. Well, that solved the mystery of why he'd brought this girl along, rather than someone whose magic might actually have helped install the mailbox. And it was irritating how shameless he was about it, so much so that Zeref did not want to do this now, no matter how easy it would be to point out the three clear areas for improvement in Levy's rune sequence.

"It's passable," he said, and nothing more. She beamed anyway.

On the mailbox itself were written normal letters, yet at first glance, they made even less sense to him than the extinct runes. He read, "Elfame Court…?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, eyes shining. "When we were registering your house, since it isn't on any official roads or anything, we had to give it a name. As far as the authorities are aware, this is Fairy Tail's holiday home, but we figured you probably wouldn't want anything with 'fairy' in the name. We didn't want to use 'spriggan' for the same reasons – too many bad memories. But according to the folklore where I grew up, the Court of Elfame was the place where the immortal fey gathered, and no human who stumbled upon the entrance was ever allowed to leave."

She smiled sheepishly. "I suggested it as a neutral alternative, and it kind of stuck. Even if no one cares for the old superstitions these days, in modern terms, 'court' has connotations of judgement, a place of wisdom and power, and also the household and residence of a sovereign, so there was something in it for everyone, we thought." There was an awkward pause. "Do you like it?"

"I suppose I shall have to get used to it," he said begrudgingly. "I must admit, I am unfamiliar with the folklore of your home. Elfame – elf-home?"

"That's one possible etymology," Levy answered, her eyes brightening further. "Another theory is that it's a corruption of the Zyrite word elphyne, which was the name given to a now-lost branch of wild magic-"

"A-hem," Makarov coughed. Levy jumped, and gave another apologetic smile. The old man stretched slowly, deliberately, smugly from his wheelchair. "While this is all very interesting, it is rather cold to be outside. Not to mention, it's hardly comfortable to be sat here like this. Old folks like me need proper support from proper furniture, you know? And there's nothing like that around here. Not since that old picnic bench finally gave up the ghost."

"Right, yes, sorry," squeaked a flustered Levy, oblivious to the razor-glare the Master's words had earnt him from Zeref, and Makarov's smirk as it bounced straight off him. She grasped the handles of his wheelchair. "Sorry, Master. Let's go back to the guild."

It was the brazenness of the old man's meddling that annoyed Zeref the most. He seemed to think that Zeref could easily be swayed by meaningless gestures – but at the same time, he understood exactly what would interest him and help him and lure him into playing along with this stupid, mundane life.

And did he really have any right to complain, when he had chosen to come back here?

Although he spent half a day sulking about it, the mailbox remained at the edge of his land, a reminder and a temptation and a point of contact with the outside world that didn't depend on Lucy or anyone else. It wasn't long before he had sent his first letter, asking a certain letter mage if she would be free one afternoon to resume their discussion on runes and folk tales.

And the next time Lucy went up to visit him, she was surprised to find a brand new picnic bench half-in and half-out of the Fairy Sphere, though everyone in the guild swore blind that they didn't know who had bought it.

"Oh! What a lovely day it is for a stroll in the forest!"

There was something about that too-loud, too-stilted voice that gave Zeref the strangest feeling of disorientation – almost as though he had fallen into another dimension.

A dimension where the entire universe was just an amateur production of reality, and rehearsals were not going well.

"How unexpected! There seems to be a house in the middle of the forest!"

No, he wasn't imagining it. He rubbed tiredly at his temples. Sometimes he wondered how he had ever considered Lucy to be an irritation, when the fact that she had retained any shred of respect for the personal space of others after spending time in this guild was nothing short of a miracle.

"Well, since I'm here, I suppose it would be rude if I just left without saying hello!" the voice continued, proudly projecting every line from the world's worst script.

Zeref placed his forehead on the table and his hands over his head and wished, not for the first time, that the Fairy Sphere could block sound.

"I said," the voice insisted doggedly, "that it would be rude to leave without-"

With an internal groan, Zeref vanished from his kitchen and reappeared inches from the barrier – and from a muscled, pierced Dragon Slayer, who jerked backwards with a squeal that matched his appearance about as well as his bad acting. "What do you want?" Zeref ground out.

"What makes you think I want anything from you?" Gajeel snorted, folding his arms defensively. "I just happened to be walking here-"

It was at times like these that Zeref really missed Alvarez. His soldiers had been efficient, respectful, polite, and most of all, they had appreciated the fact that in ninety-nine percent of cases, he had more important things to do than listen to them. "You have five seconds, and then I'm going back inside."

After a moment's hesitation, Gajeel tossed the script over his shoulder and slammed his hands down on the picnic bench. "You gotta help me beat Natsu."

"I don't have to help you do anything."

"Yeah, but you helped Gray, and he beat Natsu to S-Class. You can do the same for me, right?"

Zeref blinked. "I did no such thing. There was a Trial, held by your guild, and Gray passed it. I never so much as spoke to him."

"Well, yeah, but Lucy said you'd helped design it and pointed out to Natsu exactly where he needed to improve. So, you could also give me a few pointers so that I'll be the next one to make S-Class!"

"I see. Unfortunately, it seems Lucy has severely overestimated my interest in interacting with anyone from your guild."

"But I've gotta get to S-Class," he protested. "I've gotta prove that I'm capable and reliable so that I can ask Levy to marry me!"

"…Right."

"She's your friend, ain't she?" Gajeel blustered. "She's always going on about the runes you two are studying together. Don'tcha wanna help-?"

Zeref eyed the Dragon Slayer for a moment. "If I really wanted to help her, I would be suggesting that she started looking elsewhere for a fiancé. Fortunately for you," he continued, as Gajeel spluttered in indignation, "I have no intention of helping either of you. You have nothing to offer me and nothing to interest me."

"But- but-"

"Enjoy the rest of your… random stroll through the forest," Zeref told him idly, returning to his kitchen with a snap of his fingers.

As the volume from outside picked up again – which included a lot more expletives now that the Dragon Slayer had gone off-script – Zeref moved his papers to the side and picked up a book on magical shielding, determined to find something that could block out annoying noises.

To be honest, after his conversation with Gajeel, Zeref wasn't entirely surprised when his communication lacrima started flashing later that night.

Lucy seemed to forget, sometimes, that being kept here against his will gave him absolutely no obligation to help the people who were imprisoning him. The fact that he tolerated her – and Makarov and Levy – didn't mean he was here to make friends. Listening to her try to reprimand him for taking a sensible approach towards a Dragon Slayer he really didn't want to deal with wasn't his idea of a fun evening.

Then again, he was bored.

Far be it from him to shy away from confrontation when he was bored.

Spinning the slow-pulsing orb on the table between his hands, he allowed the call to connect. Lightly, he said, "Good evening, Lucy."

"…Hello." There was a suspicious silence. "Zeref, you're in a good mood, right?"

The lacrima slowed to a stop beneath bemused fingertips. "I'm sorry?"

"I mean… if I tell you something, you're not going to laugh at me, right?"

He blinked. "Have you ever known me to laugh, Lucy?"

The mental connection the lacrima cut through the Fairy Sphere only gave him a muted impression of her emotions, but he was sure he wasn't imagining that wistful sadness, and it made him rather uncomfortable.

Then she sighed. "Well, if anything breaks your track record, it's probably going to be me making a fool of myself."

"What did you do this time?"

"Well… you know how you decided that helping people was so far beneath you that you'd gleefully shoot down a sincere man who had swallowed his pride and come to ask your advice?"

"Mm, that rings a bell."

He couldn't see her expression, but her disgruntled huff was vivid enough. "Gajeel was pretty mad at me, because I was the one who got his hopes up by telling him that you might help, so I figured I could make it up to him by saying what I thought you would say if you weren't being such a jerk."

"Oh?"

"Well, yeah, I read all the stuff you and Makarov put together for the S-Class Trials, remember? One of Gajeel's issues is that he can't trust his allies to hold their own in battle – well, some of them he can, but he doesn't see Levy as someone who can fight alongside him, even though she's as ingenious in combat as they come. And I know it annoys her a bit, too. He's a good guy, but he doesn't think straight when it comes to her. He's convinced that his job is to protect her, which means keeping her out of the fight and sacrificing himself for her, when there would be no need for anyone to sacrifice themselves if he could keep his head, think rationally, and rely on her to hold her own."

"Mm," he hedged when she fell silent, trying to prompt her without revealing that he was interested. "So, you told him this?"

"What? No! I suggested that, if he wanted to see where his weakness lay, he needed to go on a job with someone other than Levy for the first time in forever, and pay attention to how his reactions and feelings changed when fighting alongside someone else."

There was a pause.

"That sounds rather sensible," Zeref pointed out.

"Yeah," she said flatly. "But when he asked me who he should go with, I panicked and volunteered Natsu."

"…Ah."

"They got into a fight with each other, destroyed a viaduct, and put the entire north-eastern railway network out of commission," she recounted sadly. "They never even got to the site of the job. Gajeel's in hospital, and Natsu has been banned from taking any jobs for a month."

"I'm surprised Makarov didn't ban you."

Lucy sighed again. "Oh, he's done the next best thing. The Magic Council have called an official hearing tomorrow. We have one last chance to convince them why they shouldn't disband us, and the Master is making me go as the guild's representative. Me! The person they all hate for threatening them into letting us keep you!"

"I see," Zeref said, noticing the somewhat possessive wording but deciding to let it slide. "Still, as entertaining as this has been, I'm not sure why you were so eager to tell me about it. I'm sure you're aware that I have no intention of helping you with the Council."

"Oh, no, I know," she sighed. "I'll deal with it. Somehow. No, what I wanted to ask you was – well, what would you have said to Gajeel?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, obviously I got it completely wrong; sending Natsu and Gajeel out together without any kind of adult supervision was a stupid mistake that is entirely on me. But… I just wondered, what would someone who is actually quite good at dealing with people like this have done in that situation?"

Zeref thought about this for a moment.

Thought about what he had planned to spend the evening doing; let his gaze run across the manuscript fragments that lived permanently on his kitchen table.

Shielded from the outside world, in a place entirely under his control, the only time anything unexpected happened was when someone from the guild took it upon themselves to get involved in his life – or to force him to become involved in theirs.

He was fine with that isolation. He'd spent years wandering alone, keeping his curse under control, studying magic he would never need and creating artefacts no one would ever use. But he had also never had another option before. There had been no Fairy Sphere allowing others to interact with him without fear; there had been no persistent girl on the other end of the lacrima, who made an effort to understand him, who respected his needs, and who wanted to talk to him.

"I don't think it was a bad idea, what you did," he told her honestly. "You thought about the problem and tried to come up with something that might nudge Gajeel in the right direction, rather than imposing it upon him. That's a good approach to take with a proud man like Gajeel. If it had been me, though, I would have sent him and Levy out on a job with Gray and Juvia."

"Oh!" He could practically feel her eyes widening. "Because they're also a couple, but they trust each other completely in battle. They'd set a good example for him."

"Precisely. He would see the differences between how Gray and Juvia work together in a dangerous situation, and how he instinctively pushes Levy away – and how much more formidable it makes those two. The fact that Gray made S-Class ahead of him would help convince him that there's merit in learning from Gray, whether he would admit it out loud or not. Even with the best will in the world, Gajeel wouldn't learn a thing from someone like Natsu."

She gave an embarrassed laugh. "I guess. It's so obvious when you say it like that."

"Mm. Still, if you really want to help Gajeel, you should probably start by addressing his conviction that he has to be S-Class before he can propose to Levy."

Lucy choked. "Sorry, what?"

"That's what he said."

"Ugh. What is it with this guild and its obsession with these stupid Trials?" She gave a long, drawn-out sigh, with which he agreed wholeheartedly. "Well, if I could talk Cana out of it, I'm sure I can make Gajeel see sense."

"Good luck with that."

She gave an unhappy grunt, no doubt rating her chances of success about as highly as he did.

"Thanks, though," she sighed. "I'll try and keep what you said in mind, in case anyone else accidentally asks me for advice."

Zeref could sense the honesty reverberating through their mental connection, though he didn't need it; he knew she wasn't the kind of person to say something like that and not mean it. It was… nice. A friendship maintained via lacrima may have been distant, but it was one that his curse could not harm.

She was still talking. "Assuming, of course, that we still have a guild this time tomorrow…"

"Are you worried about what the Council will say?" he wondered.

"Well, the Master isn't. I doubt he would have sent me, even as a punishment, if he believed the fate of the guild hinged upon the outcome of the hearing. They may resent us for taking matters into our own hands with your punishment, but it doesn't change the fact that we're the ones who saved Fiore from you in the first place. We're too powerful and – the North-Eastern Railway Union notwithstanding – too popular."

"You're probably right," he acceded. And then, on impulse, he added: "Don't threaten the Council."

This drew a startled half-laugh from Lucy. "You think I'd be better off rolling over and letting them disband us? Obviously, I'm not going to threaten them threaten them – it's not as though I think Fairy Tail shouldn't be punished for the damage that Gajeel and Natsu did. But if I have to put the pressure on to guarantee the future of my guild-"

"You really don't see any other option, do you?" Zeref said, amused. "I suppose that's Fairy Tail for you. Defiant and defeated are your only two states of being."

After an audible struggle, Lucy's curiosity won out. "Oh, go on, then. Tell me what you would do."

"Well, I'd probably start by apologizing."

"…Zeref, in the five months that my guild has been feeding you, protecting you, keeping you entertained, and giving you far more freedom than you deserve, you have never once apologized for anything you did to us. I don't think you even know what that word means."

"I understand the theory behind it," he assured her.

"Well, I don't think your hypothetical solution is going to do much good. The Master is forced to send apology letters on the guild's behalf all the time-"

"I don't mean telling them you're sorry, Lucy. I mean proactively showing them how the guild is going to address its own failings. Rather than going in there tomorrow defensive and desperate, with your victories as your sword and your fame as your shield, take to them, on your own initiative, a proposal for how you're going to change things in the guild going forward. Individual financial accountability for damage, for example. A cultural shift; stricter rules around causing damage and meaningful, non-financial punishments for repeat offenders. Community service or internships at the construction companies called in to reverse the damage… that sort of thing. Don't threaten them into letting you off the hook; beg them for a chance to show how you're going to improve in the future."

"…So, let me get this straight," Lucy said flatly. "The man who tried to destroy the Magic Council with his army is telling me to go and grovel before them-"

"No, the man who united an entire continent is reminding you that there is more than one way to get someone to do what you want," he interrupted mildly.

"Right, because I'm sure that at no point in the history of Alvarez did you ever use the fact that you were an immortal death-mage to get your way."

"Success isn't about having power, Lucy," he told her. "It's about knowing when to use it. They will be expecting you to go in there and throw your weight around. If you do the exact opposite, they won't know how to deal with you."

"I guess, but…"

"But?"

"It's the Council," she groaned, almost petulantly.

"And they're not going anywhere. Do you want to fight with them forever? Aren't there more important things your guild could be doing?"

"Well…"

"Pick your battles, Lucy. You don't have to fight everyone in a position of authority, just because you're Fairy Tail."

"…I suppose I did promise Queen Hisui that we wouldn't become like that," she murmured, barely loud enough for the lacrima to pick up. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to show her that she made the right decision by trusting us. But it's not as easy as you're trying to make it sound! How am I supposed to come up with a proposal like that to present to the Council before tomorrow morning? The Master has already gone home for the day, and even if I could do it myself, if I'm up all night working on it, I'll be too tired in the hearing to put forward a convincing case."

"Well, fortunately for you, I have nothing better to do tonight and nothing to get up for in the morning."

"Really?" Lucy squeaked.

"Yes." Answering the implied disbelief as well as the literal question. "There is something I want in return, though."

"What's that?"

"A really good quality set of earmuffs."

"Earmuffs," she echoed doubtfully.

"Quality ones," he insisted.

"…May I ask why?"

"Because it's surprisingly difficult to create a magical barrier that blocks sound but not the wind, and it turns out I get claustrophobic if the air's too still," he explained matter-of-factly.

If the dubious silence was any indication, this piece of logic was not helping to assure her that this wasn't a practical joke.

"Don't forget, Lucy, I have a vested interest in the continued existence of your guild," he reminded her. "Who's going to supply me with books if you all get thrown in prison? Be here tomorrow morning with the best noise-cancelling earmuffs you can find, and I'll trade you the notes to take to your Council hearing."

She gave in. "Thank you."

The connection remained open for a moment, conveying a wave of gratitude and appreciation she was trying so hard not to let him sense – a feeling that would normally have triggered a wave of death from his cursed body, but there was nothing here to kill, and it remained sulkily silent.

Then, business-like, he cut off the connection before he could be pressured into replying in words. For a moment, he considered the table in front of him and its expanse of luxurious parchment, newly inked ancient runes, tentative ideas for experimental spells, theoretical calculations of magic and life and everything in between… and in one smooth motion, he swept it all aside, pulled a sheet of cheap paper towards him, and began to write in an alphabet Lucy would understand.

Somehow, Makarov managed to remain silent as he and Lucy left the courtroom and navigated the unnecessarily vast halls of the Council Headquarters. Somehow. He was shuffling with impatience in his wheelchair the entire way. Lucy was tempted to pretend she'd left something behind and do another lap, just to wind him up further.

"How did you do it?" he demanded, as soon as they were out of earshot of anyone in a uniform.

"Oh, you know," Lucy evaded, waving her hand in a way she could easily imagine Zeref doing to a hall of defeated senators. "They call it diplomacy."

The old Guild Master glowered at her suspiciously. "They didn't throw you in prison," he stated.

"Doesn't look like it, no."

"They didn't even fine the guild."

"Nope."

"Not only that, but they have agreed to give us money."

"Yes, grants to fund part-time internships with the construction companies the guild finds itself relying on a lot."

"And you managed to stay awake for the entire hearing."

"…Is that really so much of an achievement?"

They stared at each other.

And then the tiny man's arm suddenly extended in length and snatched the prompt cards right out of her pocket.

"Hey!" she yelped.

"I knew it," he crowed, flicking through the pages of distinctive black cursive. "What did you have to give him in return for his help? Your soul?"

"Nah. Just a set of top-of-the-range earmuffs."

Makarov squinted at her.

"He misses Alvarez, I think," Lucy admitted, letting the levity fall away from her voice. "It's quite easy to keep the Black Mage Zeref entertained. He's got a supply of interesting books and a safe space in which to experiment with magic; that's all he has ever needed to keep himself going through years of isolation. Emperor Spriggan, though – he gets bored easily. He needs other people to challenge him."

"Hmm," Makarov mused, still leafing through the cards as Lucy resumed pushing him towards the station. "Well, if it stops him from directing that boredom at us, I'm all for it."

Then he froze.

"Mandatory collateral damage awareness training sessions run by the Guild Master?" he squawked, staring aghast at the proposals to which the Council had just agreed. "Oh, that does it. I am so getting him back for this."

It was a week after she didn't threaten the Magic Council that Lucy found herself in the middle of the guildhall, sat with Natsu and the huge plate of steak and chips she'd treated him to in order to cheer him up while he was grounded, when her lacrima began to vibrate.

"Sorry," she mouthed to Natsu, retrieving it from her pocket.

Fire flashed in his eyes, but true to his promise, he didn't comment. If he started sawing at his steak with more savagery than it deserved, she pretended not to notice.

"Hello, Zeref. You okay?"

"Where is Makarov?" he cut across her coldly.

It was impressive how he could simultaneously ignore her question and answer it so thoroughly. Trying to sound as light and friendly as possible, in the vain hope that it might rub off on him, she answered, "I'm afraid he's not at the guild."

"What a coincidence," Zeref said flatly. And then: "Find him."

"I can't. It's his week off; he's gone on a road trip with some of the other Guild Masters."

For an uneasy moment, she could have sworn she felt him seething at the other end of the connection.

"What do you want him for?" she wondered.

"I need you to bring him here so I can murder him."

"I'm not going to help you commit murder, Zeref," she sighed.

"He deserves it."

"I'm not sure I really want to know, but what did he do?"

"He put a redirect on all the guild's mail so it's being delivered to my house instead. My lawn is covered in bills, penalty notices, and angry letters from people complaining about your guild!"

There was a pause.

"Lucy, are you laughing?"

"No," she said immediately. "Absolutely not."

This pause was longer.

She had a feeling that she was being added to the hit list.

"Look, why don't I come and pick them up?" she volunteered. "Mira usually deals with the post when the Master is away. I'll take them to the guild."

"Bring a wheelbarrow," he grunted, and snapped the connection.

With another sigh, Lucy got to her feet. Natsu looked up at her quizzically. "What's he done now, Luce?"

"The Master has redirected the guild's post, so that every time we get a letter of complaint or a penalty notice from the Council, it's getting delivered to Zeref," she explained.

An evil light dawned in Natsu's eyes, and she had to grab the end of his scarf before he could go and deliberately destroy something. "Don't you dare. You're still grounded, remember?"

"You're no fun," he pouted.

"Don't even go there. I'll be back soon."

The sun was bright but low, the trees bold yet bare. Whether it was summer's burnished coda, as when they'd first brought Zeref in, or the last few days of winter, as were currently crunching beneath her heel, there was something about the walk up to the newly christened Elfame Court that always made Lucy appreciate nature. Probably because she was so often desperate for something to take her mind off her destination.

Zeref didn't seem to mind the cold. He was sat cross-legged on the ground surrounded by what she first thought were snowdrifts, but which, on closer inspection, turned out to be piles of envelopes. She shoved her frozen hands deeper into her pockets, wishing she had brought gloves and envying how deftly he was sorting through the post, as if the chill could gain no traction upon his fingers.

"Hey," she said, standing a little further away from the Fairy Sphere than was strictly necessary.

He didn't look up. "You didn't bring a wheelbarrow."

"I thought you were joking," she confessed lamely. "You could just set them on fire. I think that's what the Master usually does to any complaint letters that Mira can't rescue in time."

Apparently, he wasn't saving his glowers for Makarov; he was more than happy to throw them at her, the innocent bystander. "Does he not realize that is half the problem?"

"The Master knows what he's doing," she voiced tentatively. "He's kept the guild safe for decades."

"Could've fooled me," he grunted. "Look at this. The guild's annual return is three months overdue."

"Oh. I don't think we ever actually do our annual returns. The fine is only like a thousand Jewels or something."

He frowned. "Isn't it a legal requirement, though?"

"The Master doesn't really like paperwork. I mean, it's just a formality, right? The Council aren't going to close us down over something like that, so it's not really a good use of our time. Not when we've got dark mages to apprehend and people to help."

"Weren't you listening to anything I said the other day? Your guild is making enemies everywhere it turns. One day, you'll get a Chairman who isn't intimidated by the raw power of your members. I can't believe Makarov has let the guild fall into such a state."

"Maybe," she conceded. "But then again, over the past decade or so, Fairy Tail has been so much more than just a guild. It's been an orphanage, a foster home, a place of therapy and healing, a place of pioneering magic, and yet somehow it's still managed to save Fiore more times than I can count. I think the Master has probably had more important things on his mind than filling in forms."

He gave her a long, disquiet look that made her inordinately grateful for the resolute shimmer of the Fairy Sphere.

"Anyway," she moved on, suddenly very eager to get this over with before her defence of the Master earned her the same level of blame for his prank. "I'll go down to the post office and see if we can terminate the redirect order before you get any more letters. Then I'll take the existing ones back to the guildhall and we'll deal with them as normal."

"Good."

Still, when she returned that evening with a wheelbarrow, she was surprised to find far fewer envelopes waiting for her than had surrounded Zeref that afternoon – and even more so to notice that some of them were addressed to the Magic Council in still-wet ink, ready to be signed by an authorized Fairy Tail representative and sealed.

And when she later showed Master Makarov the statements confirming that Fairy Tail had successfully filed all its missing annual returns, he fell right off his stool.

Although Lucy did manage to get the redirect cancelled, it seemed, strangely, that the odd letter addressed to Fairy Tail still sometimes got rerouted by mistake, often arriving after the postman had already been that morning.

Even more strangely, Zeref didn't complain about it once.

A/N: Hey, look, I managed to get through a whole happy, fluffy chapter without anything going horribly wrong! ~CS