No, I'm not an imposter. Yes, I had a name change. And, wow, has it really been nearly a month since I last updated this story? Eh, no matter. Here's the ninth chapter for your reading pleasure!
9. Escapade
A low, inquisitive whinny sounded from within the stables.
The shadowy figure outside the door winced and glanced furtively around, hoping no one heard and decided to pay their property a visit at a quarter after one. The figure waited several moments before spinning around and poking his head behind the door that had been left slightly ajar.
"What are you doing?" Gray hissed in exasperation. "Just pick one and go!"
He was replied with an indignant snort that was distinctly equine.
"Loke!" He hissed. "Stop fooling around with the mares!"
"I'm a lion," came his companion's miffed voice. "I do not acquaintance myself with equines."
"Then what the hell are you doing?"
"Choosing a horse is an intricate process, Gray." Loke's voice wafted over to him, hushed and sagely. "It is a procedure that cannot be rushed. One must select the appropriate physique, determine its temperament, estimate its speed and endurance–"
The ice mage grasped the edge of the stables door and flung it open, before stomping fully into the building and placing his arms akimbo. From a stall, Loke glanced up with a sheepish expression on his face and attempted to subtly remove his hands from a mare's flank.
"What?" The man protested. "I was ascertaining her strength!"
Gray sighed. Really, sometimes the lion spirit was more frisky than was strictly necessary. But he knew it wouldn't be fair to put the full blame on Loke. Flirting was an inherent part of his character, being the young, healthy lion that he was. Most of the time he did not realise what he was doing. But, horses? Really? He was beginning to regret acquiescing to the other man's request... and this absurd idea – which actually constituted as theft!
(But what was he to do? Lyon was more important now. He had to find Lyon. Must find Lyon. No matter that he stole or destroyed–)
Given the limited time they had, the dark-haired mage was jittery and more than half-paranoid. Sometimes he thought he could see people hiding in the shadows or sensed people lurking behind his back, but when he whirled around there was no one there. His frustration was growing by the second.
"Gray." The ice mage looked up to see Loke standing before him with a serious expression. "If you are having second thoughts, I'll be more than willing to accompany you back to Fairy Tail." He narrowed his eyes – the other man seemed to appear a little too hopeful. "It's alright if you want to turn back. It's best if you do so, while you still can."
"No, Loke," he replied, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms across his chest. "It seems like you are having second thoughts about following through with my quest for vengeance. So it's best if you turn back while you still can."
Please don't. Stay.
Gray squashed his silly sentiments into a ball and threw them over his shoulder.
"I'm going wherever you are." Loke said firmly.
The dark-haired boy didn't reply, only moved to the side and forwards in order to hide the beginnings of a grin. He purposefully headed deeper into the stables. The horses stood quietly, watching them with placid expressions upon their faces. He glanced around, running an expert eye over the animals. There was a limited variety of breeds here, but most appeared sturdy and reliable. What Loke said was true – although he had been joking then – choosing a horse was a process that should not be rushed. A good horse could be all that stood between you and an untimely death.
Gray stopped before a stall, having his attention caught by this particular horse. It was a mare, with a beautiful chestnut coat and soft, liquid eyes. She nickered and stamped a hoof as he approached slowly, jerking her large head slightly to the side to eye him warily. Her silky auburn mane swayed as she moved her head. A quick glance at the plaque on the stall door told him that she was a Missouri Fox Trotter, about sixteen-point-two hands tall and was four years old. He shifted his gaze to the ground and turned away slightly, knowing that looking directly into a horse's eye would only spook them more. His patience was rewarded when the mare shuffled forwards a little in order to inspect him more closely.
"Hello, girl," he murmured softly.
The mare stretched her neck and snuffled at his hair curiously. He repressed a delighted chuckle at her actions, not wanting to scare her away. On the other hand, they had to choose their horses quickly and high-tail it out of there.
"Gray?"
"Shh," he whispered back, before reaching up slowly to card his fingers through her mane. He ran his fingers softly over the short, fine hairs of her cheek and grinned more broadly as the mare whickered appreciatively and nudged his hand with the side of her face. He couldn't keep back a wide grin this time. "You like being petted, don't you, girl?" He caught her muzzle firmly but gently between both hands, bringing her head down to his face before whistling lightly into her nose. The mare relaxed, her eyelids falling into half-mast.
When he looked up, he saw Loke staring.
"She's good to go," he said.
The lion spirit had an expression of slight awe as he moved forwards to stroke the mare's nose. After a few moments, he glanced at the stables door warily. "Should we go now?"
The ice mage frowned. "We haven't gotten your horse yet, Loke."
"We could share–"
"Absolutely not," Gray cut in. "We are too heavy for her. Besides, you're taller and heavier than me... you'll need a larger horse."
The strawberry-blonde tracked a disbelieving gaze from his friend to the mare. "You mean she's not large enough a size? But she's already so huge!"
Gray made an annoyed sound and turned to inspect the other horses present. "I think a gelding would be good for you... preferably from seventeen hands onwards."
Loke spluttered. "That's – that's gigantic!"
The dark-haired boy ignored his friend's protests and the temptation to call the other an amateur. He walked slowly around, mentally assessing the horses he passed. There was only seven horses available. One horse emitted a bugling neigh as he went by, eliciting a wince. When he turned, he saw that it was an immense stallion, gazing challengingly in his direction. Once they made eye contact, the stallion released an explosive snort and laid its ears back, its neck curved in such a way that the neck muscles were visibly taut. Immediately, he dropped his gaze down to the straw-covered ground and lowered his head, trying to make himself appear as small and non-threatening as possible. No doubt the stallion was regarding him as a threat to its herd - the six other horses were probably all mares, which will increase the stallion's hostility – and wanted to protect them, as well as show its claim over its territory. He was an intruder and a potential predator. It was a potent combination that had him praying the stallion would not trample its stall door down before doing the same to him. He could defend himself, of course, but he would rather not use his Ice magic on them.
"Gray!" Loke's voice called out in a worried tone, and rapid footsteps sounded behind him.
"Shh!" The ice mage hissed back urgently. "Stay away – don't come any closer!"
Silence fell, save for the slight rustling of the straw beneath Gray's boots as he slowly backed away.
It was a few tense moments before the stallion lowered its head ever so slightly and exhaled, its ears still pressed back to its head but not as tightly as before.
Gray sighed softly in relief – then swallowed a startled gasp as he was grabbed from behind and pulled backwards. He would have stumbled if Loke wasn't currently directly behind him, with his arms around his waist.
"Are you alright?" asked the lion spirit urgently, spinning him around to look him over with an anxious eye.
The ice mage rolled his eyes. "Nothing even happened, Loke." He pulled free from the other man.
"We have to hurry," muttered Gray as he scanned through the horses. The bay was a tad too small, and the black looked a little too frail for the long journey they would be undertaking. Then his eyes fell upon a white horse, in the furthest stall, its colour clearly visible in the gloom of the dimly lit stables. When he approached the animal and had a closer look, he realised that it was actually a gray. From certain angles, one could see that its skin was black underneath its white hair coat. He inspected the horse with a critical eye, noting with approval its short, strong back and wide loin - which would enable it to carry a heavier weight. The horse looked to be sufficiently tall, and was deep-chested with strong, muscular legs. It was looking at him with wide, intelligent eyes, and several moments of observation informed him that it would be a quietly powerful creature. The shiny, metal plaque told him that it was an Orlov Trotter gelding, about three years old and around seventeen hands tall. Perfect.
"Take this one," he told Loke. "Start tacking up."
He whirled around back to his chestnut mare, careful to skirt around the stallion's stall to avoid agitating it further. He had no idea if that thunderous neigh had awoken the property owners, and had no intention of finding out. He grabbed the necessary tack, calling softly to Loke as he did so, "Make sure to take the correct tack – that saddle and bridle, yes, on the left to your gelding. Now, put the bridle on first before leading him out."
Gray fixed his saddle and bridle, before giving the stirrups a few, experimental pulls to adjust it to his liking. When he glanced over at Loke, he found the man looking quite lost, standing with the saddle in one hand and the bridle a stringy mess around the gelding's head. He gave an exasperated snort and quickly looped his mare's reins around the nearby pillar before hurrying over to the lion spirit. With a dirty look at the other, he set about freeing the poor gelding and shaking out the tangled bridle. Slotting the bit into the horse's mouth, he used both hands to slide the head piece over nervously flicking ears, one at a time. He fastened the throat lash and nose band securely, making sure there was sufficient space between the material and the gelding's head before turning his attention to the saddle. Throughout, he was acutely aware of Loke's steady, fascinated gaze on him as he fussed with the gear. He forced himself to keep his eyes trained on the smooth, brown leather of the saddle as he tightened the girth and adjusted the stirrups as accurately as he could while mentally estimating the other man's leg length and foot size. His gaze scoured the flexible yet durable leather stirrups approvingly; it would be comfortable for both the rider and horse.
"There," he finally said, stepping back to allow Loke to mount. "That should do it."
He almost jumped as a hand took his and squeezed lightly. "Thanks, Gray."
"It's nothing," he muttered, doggedly not looking the other man in the eye as he pulled his hand back. "Just remember not to pull the reins too much or too hard as the bit might injure the horse's mouth. Try to use the seat or your legs to direct your horse instead. Also, keep your back straight but relaxed when we trot or canter, and go with the flow of your horse's movement or it'll be really uncomfortable for both the horse and you."
"You seem to know a lot about horses," remarked Loke as the dark-haired boy made his way back to his mare.
Gray hesitated a little before replying, "Back when I was with Ur... we traveled a lot by horse-drawn caravan. Ur dealt with our logistics, so I was mostly responsible for the horse."
Loke nodded in understanding, before squeezing his legs lightly against the sides of his gelding, prompting it to move forwards. Gray pushed the stables door open, waiting for the other man to exit before leading his horse out. He closed the door and locked it before mounting the mare, re-checking that his gear were all properly fitted before clicking his tongue and giving the reins a short wave to get the mare moving. Once he had established a steady trot, he urged the mare into a canter, easily over-taking Loke.
"Wait, Gray!"
He quickly hushed the other man before instructing, "Tighten your inside rein and place your inside leg behind the girth, then squeeze with your outside leg and push your horse forward with your seat."
"What?"
"When cantering, the horse should start with its inside foreleg," Gray called back over his shoulder. "The inside rein, leg or foreleg would be the one on the inside of a circle or bend."
"What?"
Gray sighed and skilfully directed his own horse into a gentle right turn, so that he was now facing the other man. "Imagine if you were riding in a complete circle - the leg following the inner circumference of the circle would be the inside leg, and likewise for the inside rein. The opposite goes for the outside leg or rein." He maneuvered his mare such that he now matched Loke's pace. "Alright, let's take your right leg to be the outside leg for now. Put your right leg behind the girth - there, that thick leather band that encircles the horse's body. Put your foot back more. Just behind the girth – stop! Now squeeze both legs – keep your left leg on the girth! Yes – that's cantering. Now go with the flow – no, don't lean forwards or grip the reins so tightly!"
He urged his own mare into a canter to keep up with Loke. His eyebrows were furrowed as he fretted over the other man not riding correctly, but he knew they could not waste anymore time. Once they were safely on the outskirts of Magnolia town, he would collect his backpack from where he had it hidden within a bush beside one of the more deserted trails and then they would be on their way. He'll advise Loke on cantering once they were clear from danger. For now, they'll have to make do.
"Come on," he told Loke, who nodded.
Then they made their way down the lonely, dusty road.
It was well past midnight and the search efforts, although intense, had come up short on Gray's whereabouts. Natsu was tired and hungry, and he thought that perhaps his olfactory senses were burnt out by now. In his hands was a tattered piece of cloth, heavy with the scent of his best friend. Before he had begun the hunt, he had inhaled, and inhaled again, until the olfactory code of Gray's scent was deeply ingrained into his brain – so deeply he did not think he would ever forget it.
It was the scent of winter and frozen nights, and he missed it so much. So much so that at times he thought he might just sink to his knees and stare blankly at the now-familiar fabric wound around his fingers until someone came by and shook him back into awareness. He had been searching incessantly for hours, only to find at the end of the night that it was to no avail. Throughout his own search, he had encountered many of his comrades, but never the one he wanted to meet the most. When the clock tower struck midnight, he was nearly overcome with frustration, and would have howled aloud at the futileness of his quest if not for the fact that Erza had just flown by outfitted in her Black Wing armor. He was sure that the fiery-haired girl would have insisted – by solely physical means - that he returned to headquarters until he was in a saner frame of mind. Boy, would he rage, then.
Damn it, Gray, where the hell are you?
There had been the faintest wisp of the ice mage's scent near a fountain, but it had been overwhelmed by countless scents of unknown persons and objects. There was a strange smell that overrode everything else, a perplexing mixture of animal and human that bewildered his draconic senses. It was uncannily familiar and it unsettled him. Most of all, his senses took exceeding notice of a particular characteristic in the unusual scent. It spoke strongly of dominance and confidence. Although the rational, human part of his mind was tempted to simply ignore it and be on his way, his inner dragon was greatly affronted by its domineering presence and had half a mind to track down this individual and give it a thorough thrashing for intruding and cavorting on his territory – and for flaunting that very fact. He had to spend a few moments to wrestle down the draconic instincts that were arising within him and demanding that he reassert his authority over his territory.
When he turned to other thoughts, he was instead assaulted with a crippling sense of loss. He was alarmed by the sudden, intense desire to lay waste to Magnolia Town in his dragon-form until the one he sought repented, and returned to him. He was grinding his teeth together in the effort to remain calm as he half-staggered over to the grassy area to the right of the pavement and leaned wearily against the rough bark of an oak tree. Now was not the time to go crazy. Though a small part of him – the draconic part – was still roaring to hunt down both the ice mage and the perpetrator of the bizarre scent. He slid down the tree trunk and balanced heavily on his toes with his back against the tree.
Had he really failed? Was Gray truly lost to him, then?
For a moment he was transported back into the past, to a moment where he had been just as helpless and at a loss as now. He could somewhat remember that instance. It had been a dreary and rain-tinged afternoon, the water droplets only serving to dampen his mood, his spirits and his fire magic. He had been struggling like he had never before that afternoon, trying desperately to warm the injured fawn he had found in the woods with his fire magic, but to no avail. His magic had been minimal then, and hardly anything to even speak about. He could only watch as the fawn shivered in the slight drizzle and wasted away in bone-numbing coldness, its life-blood seeping away with the rainwater into the damp, sodden grass. His tears mixed with the rain as he gently stroked the fawn's slender muzzle that rested on his lap, hating how helpless they both were. He was watching the fawn's delicate nostrils quiver with every drip of a raindrop upon it when from the side a titanic body shouldered the ferns and bushes aside and snaked a serpentine head into the tiny clearing where he was situated in.
"Why do you weep, boy?"
At that time, he could only shake his head, almost mute with his sorrow.
The glittering, crystal-like orbs that were Igneel's eyes softened and darkened to a warm orange. "Then why do you do nothing about it?"
After a second's contemplation, he wrung his hands in despair and whispered, "I cannot." To prove it, he raised a hand with his palm turned upwards and drew on his magic. There was a tiny flare of fire, before it was extinguished by the rain.
Igneel only regarded him with eyes of a blood-red hue.
Natsu had waited, until he could wait no more, take no more of his foster father's silence, before slamming his hands on to the ground beside him and shouted, "Why do you do nothing about it!"
Still, the fire dragon did not move or make a sound.
Natsu had yelled his frustration to the weeping sky.
Igneel shifted - sparking a faint hope within him that maybe the dragon would help - but only to turn and pad away. Rumbling from the dragon's crimson-scaled chest was a parting shot, "Take life as you find it, but don't leave it that way." And then the dragon leapt into the air, smashing through leaves and branches, winging into the sky.
Natsu was open-mouthed with confusion for nary a second before his nimble mind grasped at what the dragon was trying to convey. He gathered the dying fawn into his arms before springing to his feet and hurtling after the dragon as swiftly as he could – heading towards the cave they called home. When he finally arrived, there was Igneel, crouched before a blazing fire and a smile in his eyes.
A week later, he and Igneel – a boy and a dragon – stood side by side as they watched the recovered fawn trot away to freedom.
If anything, his recollection of that particular instance in his past had just reminded him to make haste. It was no use to dwell on his faults or failings. Hesitating and wallowing in self-deprecation had never helped him before, and that one memory proved so.
Then what was he doing now?
Oh, that's right. Leaning languidly against a tree trunk while his best friend strayed further and further away from him.
Natsu growled and sprang to his feet, baring his sharp teeth at the innocent fireflies darting by. Restlessness filled him, as well as an eagerness to be on his way. Why was he lounging around when there were thngs to be done and people to find? Renewed determination surged through him, filling his veins with fire and setting his blood alight. Unbeknownst to him, his purpose had shifted to one of reclamation, as opposed to simple seeking previously.
So, what was he to do now?
Find someone.
Half a minute later, a large, winged shape was silhouetted against the gibbous moon as it soared across the quietening town.
Who was he to find?
My mate.
"I'm coming for you, Gray."
And that is why you should not read Veela-themed HP fics before writing non-HP fics. *note to self*
Were you surprised? Then that makes the two of us. But I guess this just made things a lot more interesting... I think (and hope)! o.O I wasn't expecting it either. Hm. But it's a fascinating turn, don't you agree? o:
My darling reviewers! Once again, you've made me delirious with joy and all things nice and spice. Virtual cookies to these darlings: Saany, darkangel1992, LaMindy, HubrisP, 27CansOfTuna, Rewinsan, moonlightnight1, AUehara, FishyAppiePie, simply anonymous and Haik12.
Anddddd I shall spare a moment for shameless self-advertising here. I've a new story! I'll be uploading it right after this. Go check out Naturally if top!Natsu/bottom!Gray is your thing. It certainly is mine, hence the birth of Naturally.
Ugh. I'm abusing the font styles today.