AN: I apologise for the time it takes to write these chapters; this is one of those stories I work on when the fancy strikes me, and my inspiration for Fairy Tail has just recently come back to me. But, after the business with That Cover Page of Which We Shall Not Speak, I figured it was about time to crawl out of the woodwork.
Disclaimer: Fairy Tail and its characters belong to Hiro Mashima; I own absolutely nothing. Cover image by Lilly/lilithkiss.
part III.
My course is set for an uncharted sea
- Dante Alighieri, Paradiso
Italy, 1943
It was months before she heard anything.
Of course, she hadn't expected visitors at her door the moment she'd turned her back, but the days had stretched long and endless like the war, until she'd grown so accustomed to the concept of waiting, Cana wondered if that wasn't how her mother had managed all those years. It lingered at the back of her mind, like something she needed to remember but didn't think about actively, and she went about her business as she'd had every day before the night she'd found a wounded Soviet soldier in her stable.
It was a tedious period. From weeks of constant company and conversation, her solitary existence seemed far lonelier than it had been before, and she kept the radio on more than she'd used to, and made more frequent visits to the village, though she was sure to keep them as short as possible in case her visitors were to stop by. And so the days dragged on, one year passing into another, but the war lingered like an old wound, and even in the village the talk began to take a turn from hopeful to wary.
And then one day they were there, standing on her doorstep as though it wasn't the single strangest thing in the world.
"Cana Alberona."
It wasn't at all voiced like a question, and she could only reach out a hand dumbly to shake the one proffered by the elegantly dressed woman, who tipped her glasses like a character from out of a classy film. "Evergreen," she greeted, and the British accent was sharp like a whip – the kind you also only heard in films. "A pleasure."
"Yeah," she said carefully, feeling suddenly very out of place in her simple dress as she eyed the woman's impeccably pressed skirt and jacket. Not a uniform, but something similar. Her light brown hair was gathered at the nape of her neck in a tight bun. "A...pleasure."
One of the men at her side elbowed his way to the front, a grin stretching along his mouth as he took her hand quite without asking. "Name's Bixlow," he greeted amiably. "Don't be put off – Ever's too proper about things." She caught a wink from under the brim of the hat that had been tugged low over his face, and the flash of a strange tattoo. "But we're a good sort."
Is he...German? But she didn't ask, uncertain of how it would be received. If he was, and was a close friend of Laxus, it would have to be disregarding their countries' military affairs.
She cast a wary glance at her third visitor who'd yet to speak up, and noted the long hair and the jacket that looked to have been in-fashion a century back. He held out a hand and she shook it, and tried not to stare. "Fried Justine, mademoiselle," he greeted, and the accent was unmistakable this time. British, French and possibly a German. Where the hell did you find these people, Soviet boy?
When Cana pulled her hand back, the British woman raised a brow. "Should we perhaps move this party inside?" But without waiting for an actual invitation, she slipped smoothly past her. The two men followed at her heels, one grinning, while the Frenchman shot her an apologetic look as he passed.
Cana only shook her head, but closed the door behind her, wondering a moment what she'd gotten herself into as she followed the sound of their voices into the kitchen. When she arrived, the man with the clever grin was seated by the table, while the woman seemed to be inspecting the windows. The Frenchman stood at a polite distance from any personal items and seemed determined on not touching anything. She leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'd say 'make yourselves at home' but it seems you've beat me to the punch," she said. The man at her kitchen table laughed, and kicked his feet up on the chair opposite, while the woman merely raised a brow.
"Glad to see you're not shy," she drawled. "It will make things easier. You'll be spending a lot of time with us in the coming weeks, and there'll be little room for privacy."
She says while she rifles through my cupboards. But Cana said nothing to that, and settled for watching them. There was an ease about the way they moved that said they were used to working together, but she'd gathered that already from what Laxus had told her, though he'd been strangely tight-lipped about why they were working together, or on which side of the war they were on. He'd called them "independent freelancers" or something equally vague and ridiculous, and had left it at that.
"And is that all the information I'll get to go on?"
The woman cast a glance over her shoulder, and seemed to assess her, and so Cana straightened her shoulders and raised a brow in return. Evergreen smiled at that, seemingly pleased by something. "We'll help you get passage to America," she said after a lull. "From there you'll go south, where the Master's grandfather lives."
Cana didn't point out that she knew that already, and that it was a pretty vague plan as far as plans to cross war-ridden worlds generally went. But if they didn't want to let her in on the whole thing, or even so much as tell her which country they were aiming for, there had to be a good reason behind it, and so, "When do we leave?"
The German looked up at that. "As soon as you've packed. Right, Ever?"
"We leave once the sun sets and not a moment later. Best not to draw too much attention." She glanced out the window again. "You never know what lurks in the countryside."
Cana was tempted to retort with 'mostly cattle and farm-folk', but held her tongue. Something about the severity in her tone told her that her humour wouldn't be appreciated, although she'd always found that even the darkest situations could be made more tolerable with a well-placed joke. It would have made her feel better, at the very least.
"I'll go pack, then," she said, uncrossing her arms as she turned towards her bedroom.
Evergreen's voice had her stopping, however. "Pack lightly. We'll get you whatever you need when we reach Rome. We're making a stop in England as well, I should probably tell you."
Cana refrained from smartly pointing out that yes, that would have been preferable, though she didn't like the way the woman had just thrown that piece of information so casually out into the open. Is this the kind of crap I need to get used to? "Won't that be dangerous?" she asked instead.
Evergreen only smiled, and shrugged. "Possibly."
Cana raised a brow, but it was clear she wasn't getting more out of any of them on that subject, and so she opted for simply leaving the room. They'd tell her what she needed to know – Laxus had said they'd keep their cards close, and that she'd have to go along with whatever they proposed. Trust, he'd called it, and by trusting them she trusted him, though Cana was still on the fence when it came to the strange trio now occupying her kitchen.
Packing took less time than she'd thought; she didn't have all that many personal items of importance, but she made sure she had a change of clothes, as well as a picture of her mother and the copy of Dante. The last wasn't strictly necessary, but when her hands had skimmed across it as she'd stuffed her knapsack, she hadn't been able to leave it. It symbolized something – a new life in a new world, where before her entire existence had been a quiet village and the soft chime of cowbells in the hills. And Laxus hadn't had the chance to finish it, and some part of her – some silly, hopeful part – held on to the belief that as long as she had it with her, she would see him again. It was easier, somehow, imagining meeting him under the pretense of giving him the book than it was imagining meeting him to start a new life. It felt more real – the mundane nature of the idea easier to comprehend, to wrap her mind around, than the thought that she'd be going to South-America.
When she was done she slung the knapsack over her shoulder and made for the door, but halted in the doorway to the kitchen, a thought springing up amongst the concerns already warring in her head. "My mare–"
"Will be taken care of," Evergreen said smoothly, glasses glinting in the sunlight. "The farm will be sold and you will find the funds transferred to an account under your new name."
Cana frowned. "New name?"
The woman smiled, and fished out a note from an inside-pocket of her jacket. "Cana Clive," she said, as she handed Cana the note. "Laxus made some inquiries. If you should wish to pay a visit once we reach England, here is the address."
Cana frowned, but accepted the piece of paper, turning it over. It had been folded repeatedly, and the ink was smudged in places by moisture, but the handwriting was easily discernible. Yorkshire. Hull Royal Infirmary. And further down, a name. She hadn't heard the last name before, but the first she knew by heart – had heard her mother speak it on several occasions with wistful reverence.
Gildarts Clive.
She sucked in a startled breath through her nose, eyes widening as realization settled over her shoulders. When she looked up, Evergreen was smiling. "We have our ways," she said simply as she turned to leave, and left it at that. "Are you all set to go?"
Cana blinked. "Wait– Laxus did this? How?"
Evergreen only raised a brow. "Give us a little credit, now," she drawled. "Digging up names is child's play compared to some of the things we do."
Cana almost asked, but realized she probably didn't want to know what those things were. She'd already been dragged into the war and the world, she didn't need to know things that could get her killed atop the act of treason she was about to commit. So she folded the note and tucked it into her pocket, trying all the while to keep her hands from shaking.
By the time the sun was setting over the countryside, they were ready to go. From the little she'd been given by way of information they were to go on foot, and then by car the rest of the way to Rome, from where they'd make the journey to Britain although they'd given her nothing to go on about that particular detail. But she couldn't do much else at this point but go along with them – she'd promised Laxus she would, and if he trusted them it would have to be good enough for her. Besides, she reminded herself as they made their way down the slope – they wouldn't go through so much effort for a simple farm-girl if they were going to betray her.
Casting a last glance at her home, the sun dipping down behind the chimney, casting a warm glow over the roof-tiles, Cana felt a strange ache in her chest. Leaving was harder than she'd thought it would be, now that she was actually going through with it. Her mother's farmhouse sat quietly on the hillside, the red roof-tiles tinted orange under the late evening sun. And at the far edge of the property, the little stable that had never housed more than her mare and the stubborn enemy soldier who'd claimed her heart.
But her three companions spared no time for reminiscence, and she only had time for one last look before she had to pick up her pace so as not to be left behind. And so it was that with a rucksack of meagre belongings slung over her shoulder, Cana Alberona said farewell to the only home she'd ever really known.
This better be a damn good plan you've got, Laxus Dreyar.
England, 1943
Hull, Yorkshire
England was, as she'd been told even before arriving, cold and wet, and Yorkshire even more so, greeting them with a weather quite unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Evergreen had assured her the north was quite lovely on sunny days, but that it was, as it were, mostly known for its bouts of bad weather.
Cana watched the rain patter against the car's front window, blurring the view of the dark-and-grey scenery that had sprawled beside the road they'd driven along for the past two hours. She shivered and tugged her coat a little closer over the knit she'd been given upon arrival. It was starting to dawn on her how far she was from home – not just in terms of weather and distance, but in terms of pretty much everything.
Evergreen was quiet where she sat behind the wheel, but Cana didn't feel much like striking up conversation so she kept her mouth closed. The seat beside her was empty – Fried had stepped out a good while ago and had yet to return, and next to Cana in the back Bixlow sat, snoring softly against the window. The engine wasn't running, and no one seemed intent on telling her where they were or how long they were staying. Of course, after weeks of travelling with the trio, Cana hadn't come to expect anything else.
She was almost ready to ask if he was coming back at all when the door was tugged open, and he slid inside, coat and hair soaked from the rain. The woman at his side gave him a wry look, before she wordlessly started the car.
Fried turned towards her then, an apologetic smile on his face. "Sorry about the wait, mademoiselle. There was a line." A clever smile tugged at his mouth, and Cana felt she would have appreciated whatever joke he'd just made if she'd known exactly what he'd been off doing. But before she could ask, he tugged something out from the confines of his jacket and held them out to her – documents, she realized, as she took them with a muttered 'grazie'.
She opened them as the car pulled back onto the road, and raised her brows as she skimmed over the contents. "War widow?"
Evergreen didn't take her eyes off the road as she spoke. "Is there a problem? Your false documents too false for your liking?"
Cana snorted. "No, they're fine. I was just wondering why a war widow."
It was Fried who turned to explain, "It gives you an excuse to visit the hospital where your father is – you'll be going under the pretense of identifying your late husbands body."
Cana looked down into her papers, eyes tracing her fake husband's name in their neat letters, below which was an explanation of his military rank and years of service to the Crown. It was all very neat and orderly, and she wondered a moment who was putting effort into these things – creating fake identities, passports and credentials for who knew what kind of people. Wonder if it pays well...
"Have you heard anything?" she asked then, as she looked up from the documents. She hesitated. "About...my old man."
Fried shook his head, gaze apologetic. "Not since we arrived. The last word we had was that his condition was improving. He's been recovering for a while, and seems to be doing alright, all things considered."
She exhaled through her nose. "Yeah, an arm and a leg. That's not something you just walk away from." It was an inappropriate attempt at humour, but it brought a quirk of a smile on the face of the woman behind the wheel, so it couldn't have been too out of place.
Fried seemed too polite to show any outward signs of humour. "Indeed, but your father isn't just any soldier. He was in the trenches in the first war, did you know?"
Cana pursed her lips. "No, but then I can't claim to know much about him, other than the fact that he's English."
"Half Irish, actually," Evergreen spoke up, as the car made a turn onto a bumpy side-road. "You're quite the mix, as it were."
Cana didn't know whether to take that as an insult or not, but there seemed to be no ill intent behind the remark. The British seemed to favour an odd sort of dry humour that made her confused as to whether or not she was supposed to laugh, but she figured she could always pull the foreigner-card if ever questioned.
They drove on for a while longer through murky, rain-sodden scenery with looming trees on either side of the curving road. She hadn't had a chance to ride in a car before this, and found herself wishing circumstances were better. That the day was sunny and the sky cloudless, and not the heavy, overcast grey that made it seem the heavens were sinking down towards the earth. She wished they could have driven with the windows open and that her foremost problem could have been the wind making a mess of her hair, and not whether or not she'd be caught and tried as an enemy spy. Nervousness lurked like goosebumps along her arms, and she clenched her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking, partly from the cold and partly because she couldn't quite wrap her mind around where she was going. The journey over from Italy hadn't prepared her much for what she was about to do, and now that she was here she still couldn't make herself accept the fact that she'd soon come face to face with the man she'd always known yet hadn't.
Mamma, what would you think of me now? She sighed, and forced herself to calm down. Her beloved madre, rest her soul, would probably have loved the idea. She'd have told her how happy he'd be to meet her, but no matter how much Cana tried to imagine her kind voice speaking the words, they seemed hollow in her mind. For no matter how highly Cornelia Alberona had thought of the Englishman she'd given her heart, Cana couldn't fully convince herself of the same. Not yet, anyhow.
After another tense twenty minutes the car pulled onto a smaller road, and it wasn't long until it was parked and Evergreen announced a brusque 'we're here' before slipping out the door. The other two followed suit, and Cana reluctantly got out of the car after them.
The Hull Royal Infirmary sat, grey and desolate before them in a dense cover of rain, and Cana tugged the lapels of her jacket up as she hurried across the gravel towards the front door, where Evergreen was already waiting, patting the raindrops out of her hair, which looked as immaculate as always. Cana spared a lament for her own mane, which felt twice as heavy and equal parts unmanageable, the ends curling from the rainwater.
Stepping into the reception, she was startled by all the people – a mass of soldiers laid out on beds that seemed to have been put wherever there was enough space. It was her first real meeting with the war's casualties, and for a startling moment she was very much aware of her nationality, and the fake documents weighed heavy in the inner pocket of her coat. She wondered how Laxus had ever managed impersonating other people behind enemy lines, when one misstep could blow your entire cover. And get you shot. Repeatedly.
There was a hand on her shoulder then, and she looked up at Fried, who offered her a reassuring smile. "Relax, you won't be questioned. We're thorough when we do our jobs. If anything, trust that."
She breathed out through her nose, and nodded. "Alright."
"Ah, there's Lucy now," Evergreen spoke up, just as a blonde girl Cana's age spotted them from across the room, before moving to greet them. Like the woman at Cana's side, she didn't seem to be a civilian, but wasn't wearing a uniform, either, nor did she appear to be a nurse.
"Ever," she greeted with a smile. British as well, Cana noted, but her accent seemed mellower, somehow, and she had a calming sort of smile. "This is her then?" she asked as she turned to Cana, holding her her hand out. "Lucy Heartfilia," she greeted with a tilt of her head, brown eyes kind and smiling, and for the first time since arriving Cana felt her tense shoulders relax.
"Cana," she said simply, as she didn't really know what her real identity was supposed to be anymore, or who was supposed to know what. From the looks of things, the girl was working with them, or at least had an inkling of who they were and what they were there for, but there was no way of knowing for sure. And she would much rather not blow her own cover with her own ignorance, thank you very much.
Lucy shook her hand, and didn't seem to make much note of the lack of surname, but going by the look that passed between her and Evergreen, Cana was sure she knew more than she let on. It was strange, feeling so left out of the mix while at the same time feeling like all the eyes in the room were on her.
"How are you finding England so far?" Lucy asked then, drawing Cana from her thoughts to the present.
"Wet," she answered dryly, and the blonde grinned.
"We have our good days, if you'd believe it," she assured her with a wink, and Cana smiled back, feeling a little lighter of heart. She'd been tense since leaving the car, and she was going to have one hell of a kink in her neck if she didn't loosen up a little. But the soldiers milling around her made it hard to focus on anything else, save what they were there to do, which wasn't much better, and certainly didn't help her relax.
"Hey, Luce!"
The call from further down the corridor, and they all looked up as a soldier stuck his head through an open doorway. "How're ya coming along with those release papers? I'm want to get out of here!"
Lucy raised a brow. "You'll be released when you're fit for duty, Natsu, like I've told you the last four times you've asked." She sighed, the sound exasperated but fond. "And what are you doing out of bed?"
He grinned charmingly, though she didn't seem past wrangling him back into it. "Got bored," he said with a heavy American drawl. "And Gajeel's flirting with that nurse again – it was getting awkward."
The blonde looked visibly surprised – and a little intrigued. "He is? With Levy?"
Natsu shrugged. "Yeah, I think she's caught his fancy or something. And I think he's flirting. Hard to tell with a guy who's got a permanent glower." He looked over her shoulder then, attention drawn by the people around Cana, and a pleased smile stretched along his boyish face. "Hey, guys! What are you all doing this far north?"
Bixlow grinned, and tapped his nose. "Classified business, but let's just say it's not for the weather." He wasn't wearing his hat, and his tattoo was fully visible – it had taken Cana a long time to get used to the sight, but she hadn't gathered up the nerve to ask about it.
Natsu snorted. "Tell me about it – I can't wait to get out of this county. If I could just get my release papers." He threw a sidelong look at the blonde, who ignored him, not glancing away from her quiet chat with Evergreen. From what Cana could gather from where she stood, they talked about everyday banalities, but there was a strange, almost scripted feeling about their words Cana wondered if there wasn't more behind it.
Then Lucy said something that had the two laughing, and Cana felt distinctly out of place, standing off to the side as she was in a foreign hospital and in a foreign country, in which was her estranged, foreign father who she was about to meet for the first time. Dio, how did I ever get myself into this mess?
"Cana?" She looked up to find the blonde smiling at her, and she noted the others had fallen silent. "If you would like to see him, now is a good time."
She pressed her lips together. It's now or never, Alberona. "Yeah," she exhaled, gathering her nerve. "Now is fine."
The blonde nodded at Evergreen, and Cana fell into step beside her as she motioned for her to follow, leading the way out of the reception hall and down the cramped hospital corridor. She tried to keep her hands from shaking, and held them pressed against her sides as she walked.
"Nervous?"
She looked up to find the blonde smiling. "Uh...yeah."
The pretty secretary's gaze softened. "It's understandable, but Gildarts is a very charming man, so you've nothing to worry about there. He'll be thrilled to find out he's got a daughter."
Cana chewed on her bottom lip. "Yeah, probably." She hesitated a moment before asking, "He doesn't know, then? That I'm coming?"
Lucy paused, then shook her head. "We considered telling him, but...Ever said it was best to leave the decision up to you. If you decided not to come, we wouldn't have gotten his hopes up for nothing."
Cana smiled at that. "She did? That's..." Intuitive, but then that isn't much of a surprise. "Nice of her," she said instead. She didn't know why these people were going through so much trouble to reunite a stranger with her father, but she'd held her tongue, and hadn't questioned their generosity. Part of it was no doubt Laxus' doing, but she had no idea what had even possessed him to try to locate her father in the first place. You strange, strange man.
She wondered a moment where he was. If he was well. If he wasn't, they would have no doubt told her, but no one had mentioned him explicitly by name, although the implication was there still, always hovering at the back of conversation. He was the reason she was in England, and the reason they were risking their necks for a foreigner, an enemy, and though no one had uttered a word on the matter Cana still felt like something of a burden. South-America still seemed as far away as the moon, and she wondered idly if she'd ever get there, or if she'd be stuck in this rain-sodden country for the rest of her days.
She didn't realize how much she'd withdrawn into her own mind until the hand on her shoulder had her halting, and Lucy smiled, nodding towards the door at her right. "We're here."
Cana lingered, eyes on the closed door, but she didn't make a move towards it. Lucy remained at her side, but she made no move to open the door, either. "Whenever you're ready," she said simply, and Cana held back a remark of how she could stand there a year and probably still not be close to being remotely ready.
But then she thought about her mamma's stories, and the light that had come into her eyes when she'd spoken about the man on the other side of the door. They way he'd taught her to dance in the kitchen to old records, and how he'd always talked of settling down in the countryside when he retired from the military. The stories he'd told her of the places he'd visited – France and America, the cold, northern countries and the far East. He'd been a good man – a kind man, and a man like that wouldn't turn her away, surely? Dio, but he better not.
She drew a deep breath, and nodded. "Okay. I'm ready."
Lucy offered her a reassuring smile, curling her hand around the doorknob to push it open before stepping inside. Cana followed at her heels, heart hammering against her ribcage as she took an uncertain step over the threshold and into the hospital room. It was less cluttered than some of the rooms they'd passed on their way over, and there was only the one bed...and the one man resting in it.
"Mister Clive?" He raised his head from the pillow, a pair of kind, dark eyes set in a rough-but-handsome face. There was scruff at his chin, and a strand of rust-coloured hair clung to his forehead, and at the back of her mind she heard her mamma's sigh as she'd told of the charming redhead who'd swept her off her feet. From beside Cana, Lucy smiled.
"There's someone here to see you."
South-America, 1943
"That's a very pensive look you have, my boy."
He folded the letter he'd been reading, stuffing it back into the pocket of his shirt before he turned to regard his dedushka in the doorway. The sun had just risen above the treetops but had yet to reach the terrace steps, and dew still dripped from the flowers growing along the side of the house. "You're up early, gramps."
Makarov smiled at the greeting, eyes twinkling. Ivan had never allowed such a show of familiarity, even in private, and would never have tolerated the use of such an endearment. It reminded Laxus of how much he'd missed his grandfather, the years he'd been gone, though he'd been pleased to find that his seclusion had done the old man good. He was lighter at heart, the furrow between his brows not so severe as it had been back in Russia, and his smiles came easier under the warm southern sun.
Makarov eyed the pocketed letter, a clever light in his eyes that told Laxus he wasn't succeeding in hiding anything. "From that lovely Italian girl you told me about?" he asked as he came to stand beside his grandson where he sat on the front steps of the house. It was pleasantly secluded, some ways off from the more densely populated neighbourhoods, with lush surroundings and tall trees. If he closed his eyes it was almost enough to make him forget the war still raging beyond the tree-line and across the sea.
But he could never fully forget. He was a military man from birth – war was in his heart and blood, and no matter how pleasant his surroundings, he couldn't quite relax with the pressing knowledge that she was out there in the vast world somewhere, lured out of her quiet country life at his behest. It had been a purely selfish thing, asking her to leave, but after years of service to his father and his country, it had been the first choice he'd made for himself in his whole life. And after spending a month in her stable, and then two weeks in her home and her heart, he'd found he'd grown so irrevocably fond of the quick-witted farm-girl, the picture he'd so long had of freedom suddenly hadn't seemed complete without her in it.
"It's from Evergreen," he said at length. "News from the world. And the war."
Something in his tone must have transferred, because Makarov hummed. "And of Ivan?"
Laxus shrugged. "I've been declared dead," he said, more casually than he'd ever thought he'd say the words. "I wasn't promoted, but that's not really surprising given how I was supposed to have died, though from what Ever's written I was officially reported to have had a more 'honourable' death." He snorted. "Whatever that means."
Makarov's smile was humourless. "Knowing Ivan, it will have been something that reflects well on him, though not necessarily on you." He shook his head. "But if he truly believes you dead, you should count your blessings, my boy. Gods only know I've tried," he muttered. Along with other Bolsheviks, he'd gone into voluntary exile shortly before the war had broken out. Ivan had harboured a notorious dislike for his father's political associations, and once the Führer had come to power in Germany, the Dreyar family had split on the matter. Laxus had just been sixteen at the time, and had remained in Russia with his father as his grandfather had dropped off the map. It had been years before he'd found the means to track him down, only to find him in South-America. Makarov had been pleasantly surprised when Laxus had contacted him, asking for a place to stay, and thrilled to hear about the girl he'd planned on spiriting away from her country. He hadn't even batted an eye at the mention of her nationality, though he'd had a good laugh at his son's expense.
He thought about her then – tried to conjure the image of her in his mind. He thought of the dark fall of her hair and the clever curve of her mouth. But most of all he tried to remember the sound of her laughter, rough and loud and belly-deep, and found to his great regret that his memory fell short.
There was a hand on his shoulder, and Laxus started. "I'm sure she's fine," Makarov said. "She must be something special, to take you up on your offer in the first place. It's not every day a woman leaves the only home she's ever known for a man she's just met," he reminded him with a meaningful look. "And it's good to see the Dreyar family charm didn't end with my son," he added wryly.
Laxus snorted. "I don't know how much you can chalk up to charm," he drawled. "She'd have a good laugh, if she'd heard that."
Makarov laughed. "I'll be sure to ask her what it was that did it, when she arrives," he said with a wink, patting Laxus' shoulder before he turned to make his way back inside. Before he reached the terrace door, however, he stopped, one hand on the frame. "I'm happy for you, my boy," he said then. "That war isn't all you should ever know. It's a tired heart and a ravaged soul, the one that devotes itself to such a life."
Then he grinned. "And if she's anything like you've described her, well," he laughed, as he made his way back inside, "What more could one ask for in this world?"
Laxus only shook his head as his grandfather's laughter drifted back out onto the terrace, but his good humour had succeeded in lifting his spirits after Evergreen's letter. From what she'd written, the situation in Europe wasn't getting any better, and he'd felt strangely helpless, sitting on his grandfather's front steps in civilian clothes and with no connection to the outside world save the rare letters from his team. And even with information on his hands, he still wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He'd relinquished his control over the situation the moment he'd joined his grandfather – all he could do now was wait for them to do their jobs.
Pulling the newest letter back out of his pocket, Laxus turned it over in his hands. She'd been brief and to the point, as usual, and had written it in such a way that there was nothing incriminating to be found, should it end up in the wrong hands. That included page upon page of mundane descriptions of family affairs, inane news of doctor's appointments, marriages and children, in-between which were the odd piece of news from the war. But she hadn't mentioned anything about Cana, and unease skittered across his skin at what that could entail. They should have found her by now – he'd given them directions, and they'd succeeded in finding people living far more remote than Cana Alberona in her quaint little farmhouse. And if they'd run into any trouble in Italy she would have mentioned it; she wasn't the type to beat around the bush.
He was about to put it back when the folded envelope fell down onto the terrace steps, and as he bent to pick it up he caught sight of a neat row of letters along the inside of the paper. Frowning, Laxus tore it open, only to find Evergreen's familiar script looking up at him from the bottom left corner,
All is well. The girl is stubborn. Heading to Hull as we speak.
And for the first time in years of war and blood and death, Laxus felt a genuine smile stretch across his face.
AN: There'll be some more cameos next chapter, and some hints of Gajeel/Levy, because I am who I am. Hope you've enjoyed this installation, and again, my apologies for the delay.
Italian
madre/mamma: mother
grazie: thank you
Dio: God
Russian
dedushka: grandpa
French
mademoiselle: miss
