A/N: sorry there wasn't a chapter last week i was just. so tired. and blugh. also let's call this chapter Elfman Makes A Big Mistake

The guard had told him, in a very rough and angry voice, to take a right and go down the stairs and then take another right and take a left and then go up a flight of stairs. To make it worse, he'd said it all in a single breath and left Bickslow to flounder around in the dim lighting, trying to ignore the stench of the prisoners and to not to trip over every loose stone.

Gee, that guard was great. A real helpful pal.

"I swear to God that I-" A string of expletives escaped his mouth as he stumbled over nothing for the umpteenth time, and then a light voice, oddly calm for her situation, called out, "Bickslow? Over here."

So he had gone in the right direction. How encouraging. He took a turn and finally found the cell, illuminated horribly with only a dim lantern in the corner. Evergreen looked up at him from her position on the ground- they'd removed her cuffs and she was sitting as comfortably as possible against the wall. Her clothes were wrinkled, her skirt was banged up, and there were bags under her eyes. Man, if he could see those bags in such dim light, they had to be bad.

"Beautiful princess," he greeted as he lowered himself to his haunches. "You put everyone else here shame."

"You flatter me," she replied flatly. She had no interest in looking at him- only at the flickering lantern. "What's going on?"

"It's been two days, if you haven't been able to keep track," he told her. He rubbed his hands together, wringing and twisting them around, and looked at the ceiling. It was growing a gross amount of mold. Ever hated mold. "We're doing our best. Ivan is gloating and trying to look as pitiful as possible in his wheelchair."

"Kick him over."

"If only I could, kid."

"Don't call me that."

"But you're so little."

She fell silent and picked at her sleeve. Bickslow wished that bringing clothes or something to prisoners was possible, but anything could be lurking in the hem of a shirt or the folds of a pair of pants. It was against policy, even for his rank.

"Why are you alone?" he asked. "I heard you were in group holding."

"A guy tried to grab me," she responded and put a hand on her chest. "I beat him over the head with a meal tray. They put me here and won't let me out."

He smiled. "Priceless."

Quiet. Quiet. More quiet. She looked so pale, but so calm. Tired, yeah, that was probably the best way to describe her. Maybe a little sad. Bickslow was certain he looked like a nervous wreck. He hadn't slept since they'd taken him to the infirmary a couple days before. He had nothing on Ivan, and he wouldn't sleep until he had it.

"You can go," she said. The words hung heavy in the air and he winced. "I know you hate it down here. You always ask me to bring your thugs to their cells."

"You always do it," he mumbled; she knew he hated the damp darkness, the sallow-faced guards, and the sunken cheeks of the prisoners. He hated when their bony fingers clutched at the hems of his cloaks and felt sick at the scent of vomit and piss. But Ever didn't hate it. She didn't think anything of it. She went in, she came out, and she did her job all the same.

"Have you given up yet?" she asked, and she finally looked at him. There was a bruise on her cheek that he noticed when the light hit it properly. "We know it's hopeless. I know it's hopeless."

A swell of anger started in his gut. "I won't give up!" he shouted. "Why would you think otherwise? Freed and Laxus and I won't rest until-"

"You see me gasping at the noose?" she murmured. "How admirable."

"Ever-" He pressed against the bars of the prison, close enough that, if a guard was around, he would have beaten him away with the blunt end of his lance. "W-we're gonna do it. We even got help. That buddy of yours, the big muscly guy? Mirajane's brother? He's helping us. Maybe with another set of hands-!"

"Elfman's helping you?" Her eyes came to life and she twisted to look at him, her hands pressed to the ground. "What? He can't! Don't let him! Why is he still here?"

"It's fine," he assured. "He said he's fine with it, so-"

"I-I don't want him to know!" she stammered. "He doesn't know! Don't let him anywhere near the record hall." Her eyes were watering- no, it was probably just the light glittering in her pupils. "Bickslow, please-" She inched forward and reached out through the bars to grab his shoulder. "I just want to die being in his good opinion."

The record hall was dank, musty, and Elfman didn't like it. Everything below the first floor of the castle seemed to be dank and musty. The scent just about made him sick, but he was a man on a mission, and he wouldn't let a little dust and gloom get to him. Ever needed him, and he needed something to take his mind off of the disappointed look Mirajane gave to him whenever they passed. She hadn't spoken to him since their confrontation. It was just as well- he needed all his attention on his task.

Tall as he was, Elfman had to get a ladder to reach Ivan's personal records- the medical ones and the professional ones were all at the front of the hall, along with everyone else's, but to get the good stuff, the manager told him, you had to really dig deep and go up high. The files he was looking for spanned a good half a shelf, which sparked just a bit of hope in Elfman; if the files were so big, maybe there was some useful content within them.

As he descended a ladder, another file caught his attention. Just a single file, and rather thin at that, but it had a name clipped to it and he couldn't resist. He grabbed it and took it back to the front of the hall with him, back to where the light shone and the musty scent vanished. He spread them all out on a table and the manager, a tall young lady with tired eyes and a dark complexion, took her leave and pretended not to see him.

"I don't like the crown prince," she'd told him when he'd asked about the files. "Look at whatever you want. I couldn't care less."

The records spread out across the table- his head ached just looking at them. He'd always hated studying. Reading for pleasure was fine, but studying paperwork, looking at files, it had always made him irrationally irritable. But, then again, this was for Ever. Evergreen. He would look through every single stupid record in the whole castle for her, and then some.

He opened the first file, which was titled "Early Life." Born 45 years ago, had a common childhood, showed promise in magic- and disturbing tendencies. When he was 8, he killed his pet rabbit. When he was 10, he brutalized a servant so badly that she had to be in the infirmary for a week. Showed no remorse towards either incident.

"Young Adult Life": At 14, began to sneak out of the castle. Would come back drunk and create a big commotion. At 16, began to show aggression towards his father. At 19, he brutally slaughtered an entire enemy brigade with only magic and showed no remorse.

"Adulthood": Married a peasant girl when he was 21, and was the only person he showed average human tendencies towards. Had first son less than a year later, and his wife died in the process. Shunned his child and showed an unhealthy obsession with his wife's body and grave. At age 31, nearly beat his young son to death. Continued his old habits of sneaking out of the castle.

Elfman swallowed and flipped through the records, a sweat starting on his back. There was more. Much more than he wanted to see. Sexual assault, extreme violence, bouts of severe mental instability, but everything danced around the mention of murder. He was cruel, unstable, but, alas, the records told that Prince Ivan was not a murderer. Only a madman, and just that.

The sound of the wobbling paper echoed through the empty room. Elfman flipped the papers, but found that he'd reached the very final page, and he had nothing overtly incriminating to hold against the prince. He spent the next hour poring over them again and again, holding the papers close to his face as though it would help him to see something, anything, better, but it didn't. They could bring up the slaughter of an entire brigade, but Elfman knew from the stories that most people admired him for it. Their best chance would be to mention that he'd nearly beaten Laxus to death when the boy was barely nine, but it wouldn't do much good. Despicable as it was, child abuse wasn't the equivalent to murder.

He pulled his fingers through his hair until it hurt. Five more days. He gripped the edge of the table in his hands. Only five, and then they'd put the noose around her neck and-

The edge of the table fractured and fell apart as he gripped it too hard. The empty sound brought the record-keeper out of her office and she stared around her domain, bewildered. Elfman's cheeks flushed and he dropped the scraps of wood onto the floor and swept them away with his feet. Out of sight, out of mind.

Five days. He had five days to save Ever. Evergreen. Her whole name was Evergreen, but she didn't have a last name. Just like the tree. The tree that stood strong throughout the whole year, through the coldest of winters, and never lost its foliage. It was a pretty name, and he'd thought it a bit bland at first, but the more he ran it through his mind, the better it sounded. It suited her, made her seem bigger than she was.

Carefully, he rearranged the files as he had found them, ensuring that the workers wouldn't have more work than they needed. He felt sick even holding the records, but shook his head and cleared his dizziness and nausea. He forgot exactly where he'd gotten the files, so he'd leave them there for the record keeper. As he set stacked them up and set them on the table, as neatly as possible, his hand brushed against the file he'd picked up. It was so thin, only a few sparse pages, and had just a name on it.

Elfman swallowed and picked it up with trembling hands. Mirajane's words hung over him hauntingly (She's dangerous, and her records prove it), and he knew he shouldn't open it. It wasn't his business. He was focusing on Ivan, not on Evergreen, and he wanted to know the real her by himself- not by some scraps of paper.

But he was curious, maybe dangerously so. Maybe she would never tell him anything about herself. Maybe this was his only chance. He weighed the possibility in his mind, and was filled with an overwhelming guilt as he flipped open the page to the file.

His stomach sank.

The guard who led Elfman was very quiet and not sociable at all. He had agreed to take him to Evergreen's cell, however, and for that he was grateful to him. When he had come a few hours before, the other guard has instantly refused to lead him, or even tell him where the cell was, and had glared at him with suspicion and distrust.

"Thank you," Elfman said when the guard finally stopped at the end of a hallway and pointed him the rest of the way.

"It's not a problem. I'll come back if I hear something unusual," he responded. "Some of my peers are iffy about letting anyone see her, but it's not a problem with me." He pressed his lips and looked at the ground for a moment. "Poor kid. This is messed up."

The knight slipped back down the hall as quietly as he had come. Elfman took a deep breath, his heart threatening to crush straight through his chest, and started his descent down the stairs. His hands clutched the file tightly and he desperately tried to think what he'd say. Last time he'd spoken to her was before her trial, before he knew she was… whatever she was. What if she'd changed into a completely different person? What if she recoiled when he asked her about the file?

She was asleep in the corner of the cell when he got there. A wad of blankets had been crumpled together to form a makeshift pillow. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself to keep her warmth close, and she still had on the bloodstained shirt and ruined skirt on . He couldn't see any other part of her in the dark, but he imagined her hair was messed around her face like it always was when she was sleeping, like some untamable tree.

For a good three minutes, he remained so quiet that he could hear her breathing and every drip of water fall from the ceiling. There was a considerable pool of water that had collected in the corner of the hallway, and it was only after he counted another fifteen drips that he summoned the courage to clear his throat and knock against the rock wall.

"Who's there?" She responded so impossibly quickly to the noise, jumping straight awake, that Elfman wondered if she had ever been asleep at all. "I'm not afraid."

His lips quivered and he took a deep breath. His blood was roaring in his ears. "I-it's just… me."

Her shape sat up and inched forward enough that the light from the lamps outside shone on her face, leaving half of it illuminated. A shiny green and purple bruise was in full bloom on her visible cheek. It made him sick.

She tilted her head and blinked. "Elfman."

He held the file closer. It was as heavy as a brick in his weak hands. "Yeah."

She stayed quiet for a minute, and he imagined she was thinking. He didn't press her. "Why are you here?"

"Pr-prince Laxus and your squad members told me. A-about everything." He looked away and felt a nervous sweat begin to start. "I'm trying to help."

Her hands pressed against the ground and she glared up at him. She looked so very pale. "There's no point. No one will hold my innocence above the word of the country's crown prince. That's simply the way it is when you're a royal servant."

Elfman took a deep breath. He wanted to rip the papers in little pieces. The lamp seemed to light up, as though flaring with his emotions, and he finally mustered up his courage. "But you just being a royal servant isn't the only reason they won't believe you, is it?"

She stayed still, but looked over at him again. Her hair shone in the flame's light, glistening with a thin sheen of grime after being deprived of water or soap for three days. Bags hung heavy under her eyes, and she looked like a starving wolf.

"I found this," he told her. His voice was getting stronger. He held out the file for her to see, and when she leaned closer to look, she recoiled as though he was holding out a poisonous plant.

"Y-you-" she was stuttering in a way he'd never heard before. Ever had always sounded so sure and peaceful, but Evergreen sounded frightened, small, and heavy with anxiety to the point where he pitied her.

Instead of guilt, anger was now flaring in him. He opened the file so ferociously that the bind ripped and began to read from it. "Evergreen, age 21, personal knight to the second prince of Fiore, Laxus."

"Stop."

He kept going. "Grew up in the slums of the southern kingdom. Taken in by the prince at the young age of 12 and brought to the castle to train in the honorable ways of the knight."

Evergreen was shaking now, like the flame of the lanterns. Her hands slipped up to her head and she buried them against her ears. Her eyes were focused on something across from her in the cell, wide and terrified. "Stop. Please."

He read the next line in his head before aloud, and threw the records against the bars of her cell in a sudden fit of what emotion, he didn't know- Anger? No, it was something softer, but deeper than that. She flinched and held her head tighter. "Early crimes include prostitution, vandalising, burglary, and murder."

"I said. Stop!" she screamed.

The whole world seemed to go silent. Evergreen was always losing her temper, always raising her voice a bit to express her frustrations, but this was different. It was rage and sadness and fear, all combined into something he'd never heard before, and it shook Elfman down to his very bones. A sinking feeling settled over him and fell into the marrow of his bones. The file sat open at his feet, the words looming up at him, a testament to what he had done.

"You don't know what it's like there," she said. It was so quiet, as though all her voice had gone into her shout. "It's so dark… There are so many people. You don't know. They make you do things. Bad adults, who make you kill for scraps of meat and sell your bodies for handfuls of coins."

"So you killed people to feed yourself?" he asked. Disgust was roiling in his stomach.

"There was a man," she burst out suddenly. "I told you before, there's always a man!" She twisted to look back at her makeshift bed. "He told me to kill, and I did it. That was all. He was so terrible… He made so many of us kill. His own army of playthings."

"You killed-"

"15 people." Her voice was stiff. "I was the best at it. If I did it right, the younger kids wouldn't have to do it. So I did."

Bile rose in his throat. "So what-"

"Laxus came one day," she told the wall. "I remember. He came in, all princely and handsome. He had such light in his eyes when he cut down the master. I was supposed to kill him. I didn't. When I tried, he forgave me. He took me back to his home and fed me." Her shoulders hunched over. "He made the meal himself. It tasted awful."

Elfman crouched down, sliding his hands over the bars. They were cold and rust came off on his palms. "That's why no one believes you."

"It's hard to trust a child soldier. Someone who's been assassinating since they could remember," she spat. "I was Ivan's optimal target. Everyone else here is so clean. They don't have nearly as much blood on their hands as I do."

It felt like too much. A child soldier? Assassin? A knight to the country's second prince? Did Elfman even know her at all? It felt like she was drifting further away every single second, and it made his head pound and his chest ache. He'd felt so sure of who she was, back when it was just him and her, but now-

"Did you do it?"

She looked up at him. "What?"

His mouth felt dry. "Did you kill the priest?"

She stared, confused, looking as though she could not, or maybe would not, comprehend what he was saying.

"You've murdered before," he said quietly and looked away. "I was told that Ivan constantly torments you. If that really was the case, then maybe the priest was just caught in the crossfire, and-"

It happened in a flash- she was up in an instant, slamming herself against the bars of her cage. One hand wrapped around the bars where his own hand had been, and the other strained between, reaching out towards him. She was so fast, he was reminded of the first time he met her, when she held the cooking knife to his neck.

Elfman stumbled back, shaken at the suddenness of her movements. Her hand was outstretched towards him, so much so that her he could pick out the veins in her palm. Her fingers shook, and he could not tell if she was straining to hurt him, or if she was reaching towards him. Her nails scratched against the fabric of his pants, and she glared up at him.

Her mouth was stretched tight, her teeth bared, and she looked as ferocious as a wild dog. Her hair curled around her face, but he could clearly see a look on her face; something agonized, angry, and too delicate for words. Her eyes were desperately sad, shimmering with almost-tears, and he had a hard time pegging what she was feeling. He thought he'd known her so well. A simple herbalist.

"You're like the rest of them," she whispered. Her eyes turned to the ground, then flew back up and stared him right in his. "You're just like the rest! Always looking, mocking, never understanding! No matter what I do, how many people I help, no matter how many I put away in the name of this goddamned kingdom, I'm just my past. A filthy little girl with blood on her skirt!"

Elfman inched backwards. Her hand flew back into her prison and gripped a bar, the same as her other. His heart was hammering. He could all but hear it, even with her labored breathing echoing through the corridor. Was it sweat on her face, or tears?

"I-I-"

"I thought finally, maybe, I'd found someone else besides who I already had to trust and love, but I was wrong." Her voice was bitter. She glared up at him from the ground, shedding her helpless look, and what was on her face wasn't anger or spite, but merely a deep betrayal. "You're like the rest of them."

A thing inside of him snapped. He rushed back towards the prison, pressing against it. "No, I-"

"Get out!" she yelled. She curled a fist and smashed it against his knee. "If you don't trust in me, then leave!"

A thick clanking of armor interrupted his silence. The guard appeared at the distant end of the hallway, his lance clutched tight in his hand. "Is everything alright?"

"He's ready to go, sir," she called down the hallway. Her head still hung towards the cold stone ground. "Please escort him out, if you would. Thank you for bringing him."

What felt like too short of a moment later, the guard was next to him and had a hand on his shoulder. The dripping of the water echoed through the dungeon once more. "Yes, ma'am."

Ma'am. So this knight was one of her sympathizers.

"Sir, please." The guard tugged on his shoulder. "I think she'd like to be left alone. Besides, you may get in trouble if the crown prince finds out you were here."

"Ever-" Elfman pulled away, reaching to the bars one last time.

"I would like to be left alone," she agreed. She drew herself up and stood on her feet, brushing her hands against her skirt. "Take him now, please."

Only when she turned her back to him did Elfman let the guard pull him away and back down the hall.

Elfman's fist created a sizable dent in the wall of his guest room. The conversation in the room next to his stopped abruptly, and only picked up after another few seconds of waiting.

He'd thrown up almost immediately after reaching his quarters. It had come on suddenly, a slimy feeling that had been lurking since he'd first opened up the file and saw the words "assassin, prostitute, child soldier," and a slew of other terrible details. His head hurt and his eyes were streaming, and he didn't think it was from being sick.

Ever had looked at him with such betrayal that he didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive himself. She'd trusted him. She may have even cared for him to something bordering a love, and he'd flatout accused her of possibly lying to everyone she cared about. There had even been tears in her eyes, and the thought of her even becoming sad enough for them to develop made him dizzy.

He'd done something so terribly wrong that it was a sin. A very unforgivable sin. He wasn't ever going to forgive himself, and he wasn't ever going to feel the same way ever again.

She was innocent. No one was so good an actor as to put on such a betrayed face or use such a convicted voice. The pain that came off of her was much too real, and he felt that it had become his own.

He leaned against a wall and pressed a towel against his face, mopping up the moisture. Maybe she wasn't who he thought she was. She wasn't an herbalist. She wasn't an angel, or a goddess, or anything of the daydream he'd had, but still. Still. He loved her. Her smile. Eyes. The way she moved and talked and breathed. Desperately, he loved her.

He was going to prove her innocence. Give her justice. And then, despite it all, he would step out of her life forever, and give her the peace she deserved. He owed Evergreen at least that much.