A/N: school started again so my writing has slowed down and im mad :[. fortunately i still have a lot of motivation for this fic, so i write it whenever i get the chance! also, just so everyone knows, you can easily access me and reblog my work at my tumblr, raiijinshuu (yes, that is raijinshuu with an extra 'i'!)- i also make graphics, and sometimes i post WIPs there, so feel free to visit! i also have three other ongoing stories you can check out, little talks, what the flowers whispered, and lionhearted, and i'm in the process of developing a new elfever au! i love elfever aus. damn

A light sound was the first thing to finally reach through the darkness. Something light, airy, and pleasant. It was humming, Elfman settled on, after it became clearer. Someone was humming, and-

And his leg burned like hell.

Sunlight burned his eyes as he tried to open them. He screwed them shut again and shifted uncomfortably. His side screamed in pain and he struggled to remember what had happened.

Brigands. Arrows. An angel.

Despite the sunlight, he opened his eyes. A wooden roof swirled into shape above him. Next to him was a stand and atop it a basin filled with water. A cloth drifted through it, blotched with pink. The walls were suspiciously bare, though the windows were decorated with curtains that seemed to be lovingly embroidered. He ran his hand against the blanket covering him- green, cotton, and very soft. His feet hung over the edge of the bed, but a chest had been pushed up and padded with quilts to support them. Bandages wound around his body, covered with spots of blood. A damp cloth slid off his forehead when he tried to sit up. His neck stung when he did this, so he slumped back down and tried to fight off drowsiness.

This wasn't the manor. There were no healers, no attendants. Not one of his sisters was hovering and twittering over him like they always did when he was hurt, which was rather frequently. The place smelled too old and was too… wooden.

"You're awake."

The voice was hard and simple, nothing shocking, but Elfman jumped nonetheless. His neck screeched in agony when he craned it to see a young woman at the foot of the bed. A simple red dress hung off her shoulders. A white apron was wrapped around her waist and a stained cloth peeked out of the pockets. Brown hair messed around her head like an angry bird's nest, all curves and turns and twists, and it immediately identified her to him.

This was the angel in the forest.

"Where am I?" he demanded.

She frowned and pressed her lips in a vague expression. "West Forest. I found you bleeding all over the poor plants and picked you up."

Picked him up. A tiny-looking woman living in the middle of the forest, just picking up someone Elfman's size? She couldn't have. There had to be someone bigger living with her who had picked him up, but there was only one single-person bed, one small wardrobe, and there certainly wasn't any indication of another person ever having been there.

Odd.

"You've been asleep for a good three days. Those bandits did a number on you."

He sat up quickly, though his body protested. "Three days?!"

Mira and Lisanna probably thought he was dead. Didn't she say he had bled everywhere? They would send out a patrol, maybe even go themselves, and they'd find blood all over the place. If they were really looking for him, they'd have found him by now, but they hadn't, and surely they thought he was dead. What would they say when he went home?

If he went home.

The woman had elected to ignore him and instead had gone back to a small area that looked like a kitchen. Elfman took this chance to observe her curiously. Why had she picked him up? What was she planning to do to him? If she wanted him dead, wouldn't she have just killed him where he was and not bothered to patch him up? Perhaps she was a member of that group of brigands; they had mentioned a place over the hills to hide out in. Maybe she was planning on ransoming him to his sisters.

Elfman moved his hand towards the nightstand. It was certainly the furthest thing from an ax, but if she made any wrong move towards him, the basin would make a good weapon. He could hit her over the head with it and do some pretty good damage and then make his escape. He just had to watch her every move.

She proceeded as normal. She was cooking a few things at once and had all her attention on the pots and pans. He wanted to lie back down, desperately so, but kept watching. A woman in the middle of the West Forest by herself, hospitable as the place was, was bizarre. She shifted her head around to look at him warily; she knew he was watching her like a hawk. Her eyes lingered on his hand and the basin and he didn't bother to hide his aggression.

Only a second later, his skewered hand burned and he blinked, focusing away the pain. He opened his eyes what was a long second later, but she had vanished from the kitchen. Instead, she crouched on the bed with him and watched his face with such an intense, yet bland, gaze.

She was frighteningly fast, and she further proved this by lunging forward in the course of another blink. Her hand rested on his chest, one of her knees dug into his injured abdomen to the point where he yelled, and she held the sharp blade of a cooking knife up to the thin skin of his throat.

Elfman's hand dropped from his weapon and he stared in horror. He swallowed and the edge of the blade nicked his skin. Her hand was as cold as her eyes.

"Now," she began after an eternity, "what are you planning to do to a cute, helpless girl like me?"

This definitely was not a normal girl: She was fast, strong, and most certainly lethal based on the way she held the knife. Her grip was not clumsy on the blade as it was with most of the brigands he saw. The grip was almost familiar to him, like he had seen the technique before, though he had no sane idea as to how a recluse would be able to mimic what he now recognized as a palace technique.

Her words finally caught him after a long pause of him attempting to lean back and away from her knife. Cute. Helpless.

"Helpless?" he spat. The knife pressed against his throat. "What part of this is helpless, you damn brigand?"

Her eyebrows raised and her lips twitched. Another silence followed and Elfman feared that she would cut his throat for his hostility, but instead she lowered it and leaned back on her haunches. Her face was blank as she looked at him, but turned to something like curiosity as her eyes flicked to and fro, studying him.

"I'm no brigand," she stated.

He heaved a sigh of relief, almost like a gasp, and grabbed at his throat with his uninjured hand, rubbing away the small beads of blood there. "Not a brigand? Then who are you?"

Rather than answering, she reached for his other hand. He jerked back, eager to avoid her, but she caught it anyway and held it in both of hers, close to her face, scrutinizing it. So close, in fact, that he could feel her breath on the tips of his fingers. It was hot, but not in an unpleasant sort of way.

"He's reopened the wound," she whispered to herself.

He noticed only as she examined it. The bandages over his hand were quickly blossoming with red and were heavy. The pain came back all at once, as though increased by his awareness, and he snatched his hand away from her, holding it tightly and cursing.

"Damn bandits," he hissed. "There were better trained than I expected. I let my guard down. How unmanly."

The girl got off the bed and, fortunately, took her knife with her. There was a table on the way to the kitchen-area, topped with a large white bowl. While passing it, she snagged a handful of green things from the bowl and tossed them into a tall, boiling pot. Elfman proceeded to watch her warily, trying to take his mind off the searing pain in his hand and thigh and everywhere else. His body really hurt. Everywhere. He wanted to go back home and sleep.

"If you aren't a bandit, then-"

"I'm an herbalist," she cut in. "Why do you think those wounds of yours are healing so well?"

An herbalist? That would explain why she was in the middle of the forest, which was known far-and-wide as the best source of plants in the kingdom. It wouldn't explain why she handled the knife with such accuracy, but, quite honestly, Elfman was willing to let that one go. If she really was telling the truth, he had a lot of thanks to give her.

"I haven't slept in three days," she mumbled to herself. "Be grateful, you annoying noble."

For what was the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes, Elfman jerked forward and stared at her, his chest pounding. "What did you say? You know me?"

She turned to him and blinked, but went back to her stove. She spooned out a long strand of some gunky green stuff and smoothed it atop a fresh bandage. "I know of you. You're the younger brother of High Knight Mirajane, aren't you?" She stuck a finger to her chin and gazed at the ceiling. "Well, I guess 'noble,' isn't quite the right word. Maybe 'privileged boy?'"

"I'm not 'privileged,'" he argued while she came back and wrapped the bandage around his hand. The paste inside was cold and tingled to the point where it numbed his pain. The old bandage had been discarded and he found the same green paste in that one, though stale and crusty.

"Everyone knows that family and subordinates of those who achieve high knighthood are essentially treated as nobles," she quipped. "Hold still. I have to make sure this is on right for the marigold to work."

Elfman glared. "That doesn't explain how you 'know of' me."

"I haven't always lived in the middle of the woods. I used to live in the city. It's impossible not to know the faces of most knights, unless they decide to lay low." She finished with the bandage and stood again, swiping the basin off the bedside. "And besides, not everyone has that white hair. It's very distinct."

"Why did you save me?"

"You ask a lot of questions." She looked back at him and sighed before stirring something in another pot. "You matter to someone, don't you? I'd hate for them to be sad."

Something in Elfman softened, but just slightly. "I'm going to ask one last question."

"Fine."

"What's your name?"

She stayed quiet for a second, stirring her food, and then answered.

"Ever."

Her hands pressed against his muscles, firm and sure. Elfman stayed still and let her do as she pleased, her warm breath pleasant against his neck. His bandages had gone away one by one over the past few days, and Ever was doing what she referred to as a "final checkup."

She groped a muscle near his hip and he jumped. "You're being really thorough!"

"Just observing," she hummed, not much listening to him.

Her hair curled so much around her face that he could barely make it out, but he decided to see if he could get a rise out of her anyway. "You sure you aren't just using 'medical checkup' as an excuse to rub me down all you want?"

Her cheeks turned the color of tomatoes and she pinched a sensitive muscle on his shoulder extra hard until he yelped. "Keep teasing me like that and I'll reopen all your wounds, idiot."

Ever had proved to be a rather warm host, when she wasn't insulting the way he smelled like death, his idiocy at getting his wounds in the first place, or bemoaning the fact that she had to sleep on a pile of blankets because he was taking up her bed. They fought consistently, though Elfman never felt that she was truly mad at him. Rather, he got the impression that she was merely a prickly, grumpy person, despite the fact that it was very annoying.

But, he felt drawn to her. She hadn't had any visitors since he had woken up. Every day, she went out and came back with a bag full of herbs and a few trapped animals, and then she would read in the corner of the house. She talked to him whenever he engaged her. She checked his wounds every few hours and seemed to never cease worrying over them.

Elfman liked Ever. A lot. She had successfully intrigued him more than anyone else ever had, despite how they argued.

"Does your thigh still hurt?" she asked. "I can send you off with a blend for it."

"It's stiff," he responded after moving it around.

"That's not a surprise. The muscles are just finishing their mending, so they aren't as limber as they might have been." After touching and observing for another few minutes, she let him go and stood from the bed. "You're in an acceptable condition. Leave, so I can finally have my house back."

She tossed a shirt in his face and dumped his armor on his lap, stopping him from sending a sharp response back to her. Every tear in his shirt had been mended, and his armor had been patched up as much as it possibly could without the hand of a professional. The hard leather pieces felt warm and familiar, and he was glad to have them back.

"I found this when I went out before you woke up."

Elfman turned to see- out of a closet she was pulling a broad, double-edged ax with a worn wooden handle, a rough leather casing, and she handled it with surprising strength for someone her size.

"My ax!" he exclaimed, forgetting the last buttons on his shirt and taking it from her. "Where'd you find it? One of the bandits who beat me up snatched it."

She put her hands on her hips, turned away from him, and shrugged. "Told you. Found it while I was out. Who else would it belong to but you?"

Elfman was very aware that, yes, he would likely receive one of her firm smacks on the top of his head for what he was about to do, but he grabbed her hand anyway. "Thank you! This was a present from my older sister when I officially became a knight. It means a great deal to me."

The herbalist looked down at his hand and, very warily, looked back up to his face with a confused expression. "You're welcome."

Her hand was warm.

"Please release my hand and leave my house."

He let go, his ears burning, and she threw a travelling pack against his chest. He caught it as it fell and turned away from her, thoroughly embarrassed. "Y-yes. Thank you for helping me. It was real manly of you."

"You're making me really hate that damned word," she warned.

She put her hands on his back and began to push him towards the door. He felt dumbstruck for a second, but began to move his feet and finally stepped outside.

"Th-thank you again!"

"Stop telling me thank you," she grumbled. "The estate isn't that far away, but I put some dried meat and a few energy herbs in there, just in case. Eat lots of fruits and vegetables when you get back- it helps the injuries heal faster."

"Are you going to be fine out here?" he asked, leaning in to her.

A flush of red grew on her cheeks and he realized he was leaning too far- her personal space was being violated. "I'll be fine. Wasn't like you helped me around here or anything. I'll just carry on as normal." She grabbed the door handle and began to close it, but paused and gave him one last look, one including a sly grin. "Except I'll finally have my bed back."

The door shut. Elfman dropped his ax and the bag and then quickly picked them back up again and turned back towards the far west.

He had not seen her smile before. It wasn't anything special, nothing radiant like Mira's, a smile that could easily bring anyone to their knees before her, but it was nice. Pleasant. Kinda refreshing. He wouldn't mind seeing more of it, but Ever seemed like the girl who smiled once in a blue moon.

The forest was just as serene as when he had gone into it before. The birds were still singing their ceaseless song, rabbits were peering from underneath the forest brush, and the sun filtered through the trees and dappled the ground.

Mira and Lisanna probably thought he was dead. After the hugs and tears, an ass-kicking was probably waiting for him, and then a furious round of questions. Should he tell them about Ever? Or did he lie and say he'd nursed himself back to health following the fatal injuries? He wasn't that bad at taking care of wounds- in fact, he was pretty good at it. Something in his gut told him that Ever should remain a secret. He had found an abandoned cottage in the middle of the woods. He'd been unable to travel back after being injured, so he'd hidden away there and tended to his bruises and gashes. Yes, that was a good story, and believable as well.

It wasn't long after he started walking that, through the scent of pine needles and foliage, something rank and sour hit his nose. It grew stronger as he walked. Elfman coughed and covered his mouth, his eyes watering at the sudden assault. Gods, what could smell that bad, and where was the smell coming from? Even a scavenger raccoon raced past him, also offended by the scent. If it was enough to make vermin run, he knew he was not exaggerating the awful, disgusting scent.

He kept walking towards the estate and through the trees, but the scent grew stronger still, until it became unbearable and he felt the urge to vomit. He had to be close to the source, and curiosity was getting the better of him, as it unfortunately usually did. He wandered around, kicking over leaves and logs, until a horrific sight greeted him.

Brigands. His brigands. With bloated bodies and tongues swollen out of their mouths. Their flesh was a dull red, filled with gaping holes from where birds and wolves had undoubtedly picked at them. The trees and ground around them were stained red with blood. Elfman could pick out countless wounds on them, even through their rotting bodies.

They had all been murdered, cut clean through by an undoubted expert. A lance stuck straight through one, pinning her to a tree, but her body had grown soft. Her rotting flesh was beginning to slip off the handle. Another had his own ax buried into his abdomen. A sword had cut clean through another one's head, where it rested near its body.

The urge to vomit was stronger now. Even in all his years as a knight, Elfman had never seen such carnage in their peaceful kingdom, and he had certainly never seen such a large group of decaying bodies in one place. The stench was so foul. No doubt it was permeating through his clothes. He'd have to toss them or wash them extensively after getting so close.

Who had killed them, he wondered as he stepped back in terror. A rival group of brigands? Had they had a squabble among themselves? Their bodies were old enough that it would have had to have happened around the time that he was assaulted. Packs of gold still hung around their waists, so he scratched rivals off the list. They would have pillaged the corpses.

This was done by an expert. Someone who didn't care about the gold and jewels, and someone who clearly thought that the group was threatening their safety and peace.

The thought of Ever holding her knife so expertly bubbled in his mind.

Elfman swallowed and glared back towards where he had come from.

No, it couldn't be.