"What on earth are you doing here?" Lucy asked urgently, ushering them both into the common room. She cast more than one questioning glance at the large Witcher, who looked profoundly out of place in the quaint home. He remained quiet, looking to the area around them before studying the blonde in her blue dress. An expensive, ornate gold necklace sat over her collarbone, glimmering in the ambient light, and a ring of braided hair laid across the top of her head, from which a cascade of long golden hair rained. She looked like a sorceress, with her tight enough and low enough gown. And clearly one with gifts in polymorphy. It explained why she managed to live in a place like this.
"I'm so sorry to drop in on you like this, I know how dangerous it is," Levy began, but Lucy waved it off. "I needed to see if you were alright, and I had no other way to reach you."
Lucy's expression darkened just a fraction in anticipation of the real reason she was here as she settled on a chaise across from where her friend sat on the small cushioned sofa. The Witcher took up post at the edge of the room, arms crossed. "Things have gotten worse, the pyres burn daily now. But I'm no worse off, no one suspects me yet," she tilted her head, lifting a slender brow at her friend, and the large man, "Certainly nothing bad enough to warrant worry or a visit… with a bodyguard. I don't hate seeing you again, Levy but… really, why have you come?" The worry in her voice was evident, knowing something must have happened to bring her friend to her, with a Witcher.
"I was found," Levy said, staring at her hands. Lucy straightened immediately, "I was captured rather, in a refugee camp, and they kept me in Dimeritum, feeding me something to keep me down until a Redanian company arrived," she paused, lifting a weighted gaze at her friend, "in Velen. Unimpeded. If they know I'm still alive, we are all in danger. I needed to reach you, and be sure you were still safe. And I need to try and use my megascope to reach the others. Radovid is planning something, and somehow he's involved the Emperor in it. If they are cooperating then…"
"Our days of hiding are limited," Lucy finished, finally settling her gaze on the quiet observer. "And him? Is he how you escaped?"
"Partially," Levy answered.
"Name's Gajeel," he finally spoke up, waving a single finger.
Lucy looked surprised as her eyes went immediately to the twin swords on his back, recognizing the name, "So not just any Witcher. One with a reputation."
"I needed to get here and I couldn't teleport more than the one time to get us out," Levy clarified, "so an escort was needed."
Lucy looked thoughtful for a second, before getting up to head for a large shelf, full of bottles and vials of varying size. "Some of the witch hunters have figured out how to process Dimeritium further, grind it into a powder fine enough it can be added into food in small amounts. Add more than a small pinch, and you'll taste it. But a pinch that small isn't enough to do much. So they must have given it over... many days," she glanced back at Levy, her words slowing down when she started to realize the conditions she may have been in. "It's not permanent but it will systemically dampen your magic. I have something I can give you to counteract it, but you won't be one hundred percent until it fully leaves your system," the blonde explained returning to her friend with a bottle. "Drink the whole thing."
Levy nodded, pulling out the cork and downing the contents without a second thought. She winced at the bitterness. "Have you been able to reach anyone? Is there anyone I can try to communicate with?" she asked after the taste had subsided.
Lucy looked to her feet, taking a seat again. "You haven't heard anything?" the blonde asked, tentatively. Her friend's face was her answer. "Oh, okay. Well ah… Mira has done the best of us really, she took your route. She's the only one I've been able to reach reliably, she's in White Orchard as a healer. They like her there."
"Sounds about right," Levy mused with a small smile.
"Last I heard Juvia was with the druids in Skellige, but she refuses to talk to me. I was able to contact her once, months ago, I think she only did it as a courtesy to me. To let me know she was okay. But after everything, after the summit, she never wants to see us again."
Levy stirred uncomfortably at the mention of the summit-turned-massacre. She couldn't blame her for it, not after all the horrors of that day; a day that was supposed to end with treaties. They all barely escaped with their lives, and she had needed to think fast to ensure she could maintain her escape. It took some quick creativity and several inches of her hair, but she had managed to be among the reported dead that day, a convenient advantage. But at some point someone had figured out the truth, and drove her out. So much for that. "And Erza?"
The blonde's shoulders slumped, and it took a moment for her to answer. "I don't know. The last word I got of her was nearly a year ago. She was trying to work with the Nilfgaardians, advise them on enchanted weaponry to give an upper hand in the war. They had offered her protection and immunity in exchange. Her last contact with me," Lucy paused, looking deeply troubled, "She reached me through her megascope, she was urgent. She'd found out they had no intention of giving what they promised, and after they got enough information from her they were going to use her in negotiations with the Redanians. She said she would tell me more when she reached me, or reached another megascope, that the Redanians had some plans for 'us.' Last anyone saw her, she was fleeing Vizima; now both sides want her."
"I suspect she never made it here. And no one has seen her since?" Levy asked, already knowing the answer.
"We don't know if she's dead or alive, and I've tried divination. Nothing works. She's completely blocked."
"She knew how to disrupt divinations to stay out of sight," Levy commented, "It's possible it may be intentional?" Hope was evident in her voice.
Lucy nodded slowly, "I'd thought of that. It's the only thing that brings me comfort while I search for more information. I have one, ah, contact in the city, who gets me whisperings now and then. But I can't see him often."
The shorter mage was quiet for several moments, looking to her lap. Erza's disappearance disturbed her greatly, and the fact that the two sides of the war had cooperated already on another occasion, with the purpose of obtaining another Lodge sorceress, was a problem. Levy's was not an isolated incident and Erza Scarlet was arguably the strongest among them, barring when someone poked Mirajane's wild temper. It could be possible that someone had their hands on Erza, or had already disposed of her. But Levy couldn't shake the nagging thought that she and Erza had very deliberately been left alive. Previously the prices on their heads had been dead or alive: why not kill Erza when she was in the palace? Why not kill her as soon as she was discovered alive rather than waiting for the Redanians?
Levy looked up, ready to reply to her, when the Witcher cleared his throat.
"Sorry to interrupt your little reunion but I got ya here. Now unless there's some fine print, that's the end of my contract." He wasn't in a particular rush to get away from her, but he'd done what he was employed to and he had no more reason to stay. And the longer he stayed, the longer he risked getting tangled in something he shouldn't. Clearly something intricate was afoot with the two of them and the rest of them, and it wasn't something he was sure he wanted to be a part of.
Levy rose, looking slightly abashed. She had all but forgotten he was there, and he was right. It was time she pay him, even if she didn't know what she was going to do now. "Yes, of course," she said, glancing to Lucy, "Are all my things still upstairs?"
The blonde nodded quickly, "It's all where you left it, in the guest room."
The blue-haired mage nodded to her friend, and beckoned the Witcher to follow her up the narrow stairway. Gajeel kept his head lowered slightly, grumbling internally at the low ceilings. She pushed open a door with a loud creak, entering a large room that was filled, floor to ceiling on all four walls, with books. Two large chests were nestled amongst them to the left, and in the center of the room were the three posts of her megascope.
Gajeel stopped in the doorway, not even remotely surprised by what he saw within. She wasn't joking when she said she had more belongings here.
The mage went straight to the chests, pushing one open with another creak and he leaned forward to try and peek inside. He could see piles of clothing, but not much else until she dug in and pulled out a few coin-purses. Gajeel lifted his brows, watching her peek into each one and weigh them out in her hands, until she picked one of the larger ones and buried the rest within.
She stood to face him resolutely, presenting the Witcher with the pouch. "Your pay." She didn't look at him, and her tone was detached.
Gajeel tilted his head slightly, taking the coin from her. She's distracted. "What will you do now?" he asked carefully.
Levy slumped her shoulders, unsure how to answer. "Frankly, I don't know. I have work to do here. I need to… look into some things." She glanced around the room, at the familiarity of her books and equipment, before looking to him. "And you, Witcher? Will you seek out your friend? Your horse?" she smiled, tilting her head a little.
Gajeel nodded, "Eventually. I have a mount for now, I ain't in a hurry. Follow the Path; I'll meet up with him sooner or later."
"You sure you want to leave so soon? We came a long way. I'm sure Lucy would not mind if you stayed for a meal or a night of rest," Levy offered, sounding more hopeful than she intended.
Reluctantly, the Witcher shook his head, "I appreciate it but I got a hell of a cravin' for some beer, and I know some folk in town I hope to see at the Rosemary." See, brawl with, get into some kind of competition. The Rosemary and Thyme was one of the few taverns he had not been banned from… yet anyway.
Levy nodded, understanding, tilting her head to the side. She wanted to ask him to stop by before he left the city, that she wanted to see him again. But she didn't know him, and as much as it seemed nice, she had something much bigger to worry about now. Still, "Thank you, Gajeel. I appreciate your help."
The Witcher huffed in acknowledgment, not one too skilled with goodbyes. "Just business, Shorty," he smirked toothily, watching her prickle with annoyance as just a hint of static tickled his skin. She stomped towards him, and he moved aside to presumably let her out of the room. But instead, she stopped in front of him and stood there a moment, glaring up at the man for several moments with fire in her eyes. But after a few seconds of silently staring at one another, she softened just slightly.
Levy rose as far up on tiptoe as she could, and kissed him on his scruffy cheek. The Witcher's eyes went wide, and he felt a literal shock fly through him as he jolted back against the doorframe. He stared, slack-jawed at her as she dropped back down and smiled at him with great satisfaction. "It's been a pleasure to have met you, Black Steel," she said, turning from him with a flick of her hair before the color reached her cheeks, and descended down the stairs.
Gajeel stalled for a moment, blinking wordlessly in her wake. He flexed his hands over and over for what felt like forever after she disappeared at the bottom of the stairs, and the voices of the two women floated up to him. He shook his head, rubbed his still tingling cheek, and headed down the stairs to see himself out.
The Witcher pushed open the door to the loud tavern and inhaled deeply. The smell of smoke, alcohol, and sweat. It was always busy, day or night, and had changed completely from the last time he was here. The Rosemary and Thyme had been a fairly young business the last few times he had been, and the very last time was not… his best. Now the establishment was in full swing.
He smirked to himself, heading up to the bar and taking at seat at one of the stools. The tavern-owner had her back to him, organizing the bottles on the shelf behind the bar, completely unaware that he had shown up.
"Oi, Alberona," he called out to her, and she nearly dropped the bottle of vodka in her hands. Nearly. The woman would never waste good liquor.
The brunette whirled to face him, eyes wide. "Gods above! If it isn't Black Steel himself!" she exclaimed, her surprise very quickly turning sour. "I hope you have my damned money this time, I'm still trying to pay for the repairs!" she hissed, glancing to the wall to their left, shoddily boarded up.
"Good to see ya too, Cana." Gajeel followed her gaze and grinned, puffing up with a touch of pride. "That fucker deserved it, and you know it," the Witcher retorted, before leaning to the side to dig into the pouch at his side. He produced the coin purse the sorceress had given him and opened it slightly before sliding it towards her. "Take whatever'll cover the repairs and a night's worth of Kaedweni. In my favorite stein if ya still got it."
"You mean if the pyro hasn't melted it down?" Cana replied, still staring at the coin purse in front of her before she snatched it to keep it from the eyes of anyone else Gajeel might have to toss through a wall. "Been busy have you? What sorta contract landed you this?" she commented, before handing the rest of it back to him.
"Nothing special," he shrugged. "Simple escort."
"Mhm, right," she replied, reaching under the bar to produce the pewter stein with the iron handle. She had only just started to pour when a familiar voice boomed through the tavern.
"Metalhead!"
A look of 'oh no' flashed across Cana's face as a wicked grin spread on Gajeel's.
Aside from the loud voice, the hum of his wolf amulet also announced the presence of the newcomer. "Salamander!" The Witcher spun around on his stool and leaned back against the bar to acknowledge the rosy-haired man that had just arrived. Soot dusted his face and coated his arms, and Gajeel couldn't figure out if he was wearing a black tunic or if it used to be another color. The black was an even layer over his pulled-back hair, only allowing flashes of the rosy pink to show through. The only thing missing was his blacksmith's apron. "Fresh from the forges, eh?"
"You got a lot of nerve showin' back up here after last time," the man growled, taking a seat two stools down from the Witcher. He glanced, pointedly, to the damaged wall. "And don't call me Salamander," he warned, and Gajeel could have sworn a thread of smoke rose from the corner of his mouth.
"Don't give me a reason or I'll toss ya again, flame-brain," Gajeel retorted, thinking quite fondly of his last visit. When he had sent a very drunk blacksmith through the wall with an equally drunk casting of Aard. He didn't even remember what the man had said to piss him off, but Gajeel knew he deserved it.
"The fuck you will, cat-eyes," Cana interjected, sliding the beer towards Gajeel, who twisted around to grab the handle. She was already pouring one for the blacksmith in an attempt to placate him.
Grumbling, Natsu took the offered drink and glared at the Witcher a moment longer before he broke out in a large smile and held up his own pint to clink against Gajeel's. Tension visibly left Cana's body as she rolled her eyes at the two men before she went back to work. "The hell you doin' back in Novigrad? City hasn't exactly been the nicest place to be lately. Looking for me to make you another masterpiece?" He looked, pointedly, to the hilt of the steel sword on Gajeel's back.
Gajeel took a large swing of the dark stout, sighing with heavy satisfaction. "Contract," he replied, "Caught in some Lodge business," he added with a hushed tone.
Natsu nearly choked on his beer and held up a tattooed arm to his frothy mouth, trying to keep from spitting the cherry beer on his old friend. "You what?" he asked, looking around them. "That's risky."
The Witcher lifted a brow at his reaction. "Had your own run-ins, eh?" he asked, looking at the right arm covered in black tangles of ink that trailed up farther than what his tunic covered. "Still trying t' figure that out?" he gestured with his beer before taking another swig.
Natsu grimaced, returning to his drink as well. "Sorta. I know someone in Farcorners. We uh, help each other, she keeps an ear out for anything for this," he looked to his arm, "and I have pretty good ears myself."
Gajeel blinked, before laughing to himself at the coincidence, "Well shit."
Natsu looked at him for a second, and without having to say it out loud they realized they were speaking about the same blonde sorceress. "So you found your own. Like I said, bad place to come."
The Witcher looked into his beer, thinking of the blue-haired mage he'd left at the edge of witch hunter territory. The one he was trying to purge from his thoughts with beer. Maybe now that he had seen her again and helped her she would leave his dreams. He couldn't even say why he had dreamt about her in the first place, but with any luck alcohol would fix it. "Don't I know it. But you seem to be doin' fine for yerself."
"Thank the damn sage who wrote such a convincing curse," the blacksmith replied bitterly, swigging his Rivian beer.
"Eh, coulda done a better meat-suit," Gajeel taunted with a smirk, tensing in case the fiery man decided to lash out. Thankfully, it seemed the beer had already started to work to placate his friend's combustible demeanor. "So what have ya heard? I been sloughing through Velen for a few months, a little outta the loop."
Natsu took a deep breath and looked upwards, arranging his thoughts before he looked around him again. Yes, the Rosemary was a generally safe place; Cana worked very hard to only allow a certain kind of clientele, but it never hurt to be safe. "The witch hunts are in full swing, Radovid keeps handing over coin and power to them and the temple guard. The city's a worse and worse place for people like us to be, and you brought your contract here at a bad time," he warned, "A Nilfgaardian envoy was here a week ago, met with and left alive from a council with Radovid's advisers themselves."
Gajeel raised his pierced brow in surprise, intrigued about the timing. "Ya know what about?"
The blacksmith shook his head, "Not at all. Just happened to be at the docks when they showed up."
"They?"
"It was strange. The Nilfgaardian I coulda spotted a mile away. But someone else arrived too, separate. Dressed in common-clothes. He wore no crest," he explained.
Gajeel shifted, taking a few more gulps of his stout and savoring the warmth in his gut. The pieces all lined up too coincidentally, except for the mystery visitor. That was the one wild card. He didn't know exactly how long Levy had been in that camp, but he did know when the Redanians had showed up for her. "His Highness still in port?"
"He is."
"Any activity over the last couple days?"
Natsu glanced at him, wondering what exactly his friend knew, and where he was going with it. "Yeah; some of his generals leaving in a hurry about four days ago."
That was it. There was the connection. Gajeel narrowed his eyes before downing the rest of his beer. He stared into the bottom of the pewter stein, and wondered how invested he cared to be in this information. In the fact that the pieces lined up, and somehow it boiled down to the sorceress he had just delivered to King Radovid's genocidal doorstep. "I need another drink."
"Wolves asleep amidst the trees… bats all a-swaying in the breeze..."
A singing voice, rough, edged with a higher pitch, rose above the bubbling river. The moist soil sloshed beneath his worn boots, threatening to slow his pace. But not quite as much as the struggling soldier, clawing at the black, nebulous layer over his face that kept him from making a sound beyond the strangled hums in his chest. The tall merchant held the soldier by the back collar of his armor in a grip that dented the metal.
"But one soul lies anxious wide awake," he flourished up a hand, dancing his fingers to the melody, "fearing all manner of ghouls, hags, and wraiths…"
The soldier kicked, trying to tear from the iron grip, and the singing stopped.
"Now now, don't interrupt," the merchant's rough, gravelly voice cooed, "It will be less comfortable if you keep struggling." He turned his head, focusing reddish brown eyes on the defiant prisoner. He kicked and struggled, but he had far less life in him than before. The soldier's feet found no purchase, and he had been dragged far enough from any camp that none saw him. Even along the banks of the Pontar, few people wandered this far and this close to water unless they sought a run-in with a Water Hag.
But the merchant attracted no such attention, in fact all life seemed to keep out of a very distinct radius from the thin man. They traveled, uninterrupted, until the shoreline became rocky, rising up into a large outcropping over the bank. He dragged the Redanian into a cave, ignoring the sudden fervor, the last bit of fight from his prisoner. It wasn't the fact they had arrived at such a secluded location that reawakened his panic.
It was the fact that when the Redanian looked up to the merchant to curse him wordlessly, he did not see the man from before. He saw the leathery grey skin. He saw the inhumanly wide grin that now bore fangs instead of teeth. He saw the ram-like horns that curled from the sides of his skull and the long canine ears behind them. And he saw the orange-red eyes glow in the shadows, turn upon him with mischievous malice. He had the shape of a man, and yet was so very much not.
"'Why am I here? What does it want with me?'" the creature spoke in a mocking tone, waving a free hand and brandishing black claws on each of his four fingers. "'Will I die here, oh no~,'" he continued, letting out a laugh that sounded like smacking two rocks together. "The answer is yes, sorry," he stated matter-of-factly, dropping the Redanian into the soil as they reached the back of the cave. Small holes in the roof let in rays of light, revealing very little beyond a large stone reservoir, like the bottom of a fountain. It was empty, but the carvings along its base were intricate and appeared very, very old.
The soldier, free of the demon's grip, scrambled to get back to his feet, despite the black veil over his nose and mouth. He barely made onto his elbows when a crushing force crashed down onto his back, forcing him face-first into the mud. "Ah-ah, we can't have that," the male cautioned, pressing a large canine foot down onto the center of his back and poising a large black claw over the back of his neck. Its tip brushed against the rise of a vertebra. "I need you, mouse. Or, rather, your life. Cogs to turn, pots to stir," he bobbed his head back and forth, "Divinations and hydromancy are such fun tricks, but their style is so very bland. So limited. One can be… what's the word," he ran clawed fingers through his crest of black hair in thought, "so much more creative with blood magic…"
Understanding his life was about to end, his victim tried, to no avail, to get out from under the demon's foot or to get away. Ah, I'm missing the best part of these things, he thought, suddenly snapping his fingers. The black veil dissolved from the man's face, and as soon as he realized his ability to speak, he turned his frantic words to his attacker. "Who are you?! You will regret attacking the Redanian army, freak!" he screamed, and the demon applied sudden, heavier pressure to his back as he coughed in pain.
"Oh, don't be so dramatic. I merely stole you, and none of your 'army' even noticed. You are becoming part of something much bigger. I might say this is the most important thing you've ever done, mouse," he smiled, "But because you asked, you can take my name to the grave." He leaned forward towards the man, shadows befalling his face, "They call me Zink." With his final courtesy of words to the man, before he plunged his claws into the back of his neck. The man struggled, screaming loud enough to echo through the cave, but the demon merely pressed down harder. The backplate of his armor caved in with a crunch, and his claws sliced deeper into the man's flesh, one slipping in between vertebrae. The man went still, and the screaming died with guttural coughs.
As quickly as he had inflicted the damage, he eased off, only to grab him by the hair and lift him with relative ease. He hauled the twitching corpse over to the stained stone bowl, holding the gushing wound over it such that a small pool of blood collected. When he felt he had enough, he tossed the body aside like trash. I'll feed it to the Drowners later.
The man muttered several words to himself as the blood rippled and moved, subtly at first, then more violently. Zink gripped the edges of the vessel and leaned over it, some strands of black hair dangling over his brow as he stared into the blood. It danced as though alive, and in it he slowly started to see the image of a small mage, accompanied by a blonde woman. "Ah, two out of five," he muttered, a devilish grin spreading across his angular face. "And they all fall in line, one… by… one." Glowing orange eyes looked to the mouth of the cave, and that cracking laugh filled the space.